Do You Hear the People Sing?
by Takada Saiko
Summary: Les Amis wins, but at what cost? AU, obviously. R&R please
1. Chapter 1

**"Do You Hear the People Sing"

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**

A/N: This story comes from a conversation with Anna… It began, "You know what would be really painful?" and she promptly told me that she was sure I was the only one that would begin a sentence quite like that. We had a good laugh about it. But this story came out of that conversation. A drawing I'm working on did too, but I doubt you will get to see that. Sorry. But it is AU, if you don't like that. I hate the fact that Les Amis dies… :sigh: Some of you might have read "Blood of Angry Men" in which they lived, but this is just a bit different. They win. Sort of. You'll see. Enjoy. :)

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**Chapter One: A Whit Flag Flies**

Enjolras coughed and put his nose into the crook of his arm, allowing his soiled sleeve to serve as a barrier between his nose and the horrid smell of gunpowder. It was gagging him like nothing else ever had. Perhaps it was gunpowder mixed with the smell of blood and dead bodies as well… That would just about do it.

"What's the count?" he called out to Combeferre.

The young doctor glanced over, his glasses slipping down his nose and his eyes showing a hint of fright. Though it wasn't for himself, Enjolras knew, but for the patience in the wine shop that he'd been attending to. Combeferre was not a warring young man, though he fought for what he believed in. He would have much rather healed than harmed. "We've lost several of our own…" he murmured brokenly.

"Do what you can for the ones we still have," the blond man said quietly.

"How is it out here? I've been so busy in there I barely know."

There was a long pause before Enjolras took in a deep breath and released it in the form of a sigh. "We have not lost it yet."

"They're breaking through!" someone called from nearer to the barricade's walls.

Combeferre snorted and shook his head. "Of all the timings…"

"Come," Enjolras said as he started back for the wine shop.

"You're leaving the heat of the battle?"

"Not for long." _I'm getting you back inside_, he added silently.

The two men ducked into the wine shop, careful of the people rushing about. Enjolras crossed the room and took up a new gun as his old one was done for. He loaded it and stood at the door. Die facing their foes? It was likely they'd die. Perhaps they would be facing their foes. He did hope for that much.

"They're coming in through the upstairs windows!" Courfeyrac yelled. "Enjolras!"

"I heard you! I'm coming!" their leader called back and he turned to race up the stairs. He met Courfeyrac there, seeing him already bleeding and swollen from battle. "How do you fair?"

"Well enough," the other man said with a grin. "We'll take 'em down."

Enjolras nodded as they continued up the stairs together only to find a sleeping Grantaire. "Where are they?" the blond murmured while nudging the drunkard awake.

"Wha'?" Grantaire slurred and his eyes slid open lazily.

"You would have been dead and never known it," Courfeyrac growled with a glare. "I know I heard a window breaking."

"A window?" Grantaire echoed, eye lids wanting to droop back down to sleep once more, but he forced them open. "Did the fighting start?"

It was all Enjolras could do not to reach forward and smack him good across the head, trying to knock sense into him. Instead he simply growled out, "Make yourself useful and help us look."

"'Make myself useful' he says," the taller man grumbled as he stumbled from his place. "Look where, O great Apollo? Under the bed for big bad monsters?"

"For National Guard," Enjolras snapped. "Courfeyrac, in there if you please."

The other man nodded and slipped into the room, leaving Enjolras and Grantaire to search that one. The blond man shook his head in frustration. The drunkard was little use to him. He'd always been little use to him other than to constantly question and irritate. Was that useful? Note likely.

"Hey, Enjolras! This window _has_ been broken!" Grantaire shouted, not realizing Les Amis' leader was right behind him.

"Not so loud, you imbecile!" he hissed. "Why not just alert them all we're up here?" He shook his head again, irritation showing fully and he turned. "They're here!" he announced upon seeing one man with a musket aimed. He was by Grantaire's side at that instant and suddenly found himself taking a bayonet meant for the other man. The pain hit and he wasn't even sure if he'd known it would come. Had he seen the National Guard there? Had he known he was aiming at Grantaire and stepped in the way? It had all happened so quickly he wasn't sure. Now he found himself with the bayonet lodged a couple inches below his ribs and he wondered – finding it very odd in the mist of all the pain – just how it had missed his spine with as close as it had come. He was pushed up against Grantaire who in turn was between him and the wall, unable to move as the man had run the blond leader completely through so that the barrel of the gun was pressed against his belly. So he had stepped in front of the drunkard! Good to know that now, even if they were about to die…

"You! Where is your leader?" the soldier demanded gruffly. "Answer!" He moved in closer, pushing roughly against the gun that had impaled Enjolras, causing the younger man to have to bite back a cry of pain and his back arched involuntarily, only causing more mind searing pain. He felt a cough bubbling in his throat and a coppery taste on his tongue.

Grantaire, pinned behind Enjolras, was still unharmed, but didn't dare move. He was bracing his idol as best as he could so that the other didn't drop his weight against the bayonet.

"I'll shoot you, boy!" the guard warned. "Tell me, where is your leader?"

"I am…" Enjolras managed to gasp through the pain.

"You?" the man sneered. "You're nothing more than a child." He laughed when his only response was a defiant glare. "Well then, if you be a liar or a fool you'll be a dead one either which way."

The shot rang out, throwing the blond revolutionary back into Grantaire. The bullet passed straight through him, lodging itself in the drunkard behind. His alcohol clouded mind suddenly cleared with the pain and he began to sag down, only held up by the wall and the pinned Enjolras.

The guard ripped the bayonet from the boy ruthlessly and allowed both men to drop to the ground in a quickly forming pool of their blood. "Where's your revolution now?" he scoffed as he turned his back on them.

"They raised a flag!" Courfeyrac's excited voice sounded from the other room. "I saw it! A white flag of surrender! We won, Enjo-" He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him. Enjolras lay face down, blood pooling steadily beneath him and Grantaire was propped up against the wall, his head lulled slightly to one side. His eyes were open albeit a bit glazed over. "My word," the other student breathed as he knelt by his friends. "I heard the shot… I thought it was downstairs…"

Grantaire focused on Courfeyrac. "You said… we won?"

"Yes."

A smile crossed his lips and he let his eyes flutter closed. "That'll make… Apollo happy… He'll smile… you think?"

Courfeyrac was shaking at this point and he reached for his friend in question without a word.

"Right?" the injured drunkard breathed.

"Yes. Of course he will," the student assured him.

"Good." That established, he allowed himself to sink into darkness.

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A/N: Let me know what you think please 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: No Time to Spare

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**

"Courfeyrac! Did you see the flag?" Combeferre shouted as he flung open the door to the sight of his lady-chasing friend kneeling over their two injured comrades and a soldier standing a bit away with a bloodied bayonet. The young med student began to shake. "Enjolras! Grantaire! What…"

Courfeyrac stood, eyes blazing. "I say kill him!" he shouted, trembling, eyes locked on the soldier. "He's killed Enjolras, surely!"

"He's not dead yet," Combeferre murmured as he knelt by Enjolras' still form and felt a weak pulse in his wrist. "And Grantaire as well. They need help, now."

"You: stay put," Courfeyrac growled at the soldier and moved to help lift Grantaire as the smaller man took Enjolras in his arms awkwardly. They shuffled down the stairs as best as they could with their limp friends, hearing a groan from each before reaching the bottom and stretching them each out on a separate table.

"What happened?" Joly demanded with a gasp.

"They got in upstairs," Combeferre murmured as he searched desperately for a clean rag that was not stained already with crimson. At last he found one and semi-clean water. He moved toward Enjolras first, instructing Joly to take a look at Grantaire until he could. As the young hypochondriac did so, Combeferre pulled back his friend's tattered red vest and blood-soaked shirt that was now a deeper colour of the vest. His patient moaned in pain at the first contact of the luke-warm water to the wound. "Shh… It's all right, Enjolras. You're with friends."

"What's the count?" the blond man murmured, eyes fluttering open ever so slightly. Those keen blue eyes that always appeared to be calculating every movement were now glazed with pain. Though, even saying this, he was asking about the men and Combeferre had to smile.

"We've won, my friend," he whispered, touching a hand to the injured man's forehead and smoothing back filthy blond hair. "We've done what we came to do."

"Won?"

"Yes. Now rest. I'll take care of you."

"And… Grantaire?"

Combeferre glanced over his shoulder to where Joly was working steadily. "He's just fine," he assured the revolutionary leader. "He'll be up and drinking and irritating everyone in no time."

Enjolras nodded, allowing his eyes to slip closed and his head to lull back. His breathing evened out and Combeferre laid a hand against his cheek softly, praying to God that He bring his friend from death's door that he seemed to be at.

"Where is your leader?" a voice said from behind.

The medical student whirled around, startled, to see an aged man, though not old by any means. He wore a National Guard's uniform. "Why?"

"My men raised a white flag, haven't you heard? I need to talk to him now."

"I'm afraid that is impossible."

"And how's that?"

Combeferre motioned to the still form of Enjolras that lay - still bleeding - on the table. He pressed a rag against his wounds and it brought a gasp from the boy. "As you can see, he's got enough to deal with without being burdened by you. You'll have to settle for me. When I'm done here, that is."

The man's dark eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of Enjolras. "He's nothing more than a child… Will he die?"

"If I leave him now, yes. But I still might save him, so I'd ask you to leave me to my work."

"Pull your men out of here," Courfeyrac said coldly. "We'll discuss what needs to be discussed after the wounded are dealt with."

"And you have authority to give this order?" the Guard growled.

"Yes."

"Then I'll return in twenty-four hours. I will speak to him then, if he's alive."

The young students watched the elder man leave, all letting out a sigh as the air seemed less threatening now that he was gone. But they could not breathe freely yet. "Try to find some hot water," Combeferre instructed. "And blankets."

"That's asking a lot in this place," Joly murmured softly.

The other med student looked at him, eyes sad yet holding just as much conviction as his voice. "I will not let them die."

----------------

The sun was low in the sky when Grantaire's eyes fluttered open. He blinked twice, forcing them to focus, then made the mistake of trying to sit up. With a yelp of pain he fell back against the makeshift pallet and turned so his face was buried in the blankets.

"You're awake."

He forced himself to turn again, so he could see the owner of the voice. "Feuilly?"

The fan-maker nodded and moved closer, kneeling next to his injured comrade. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Not really," Grantaire admitted slowly. "Well… I woke up. And Enjolras and Courfeyrac had come upstairs…" He stopped suddenly. "Enjolras… is he alright! He stepped in the way. They stabbed him, shot him too, I think… I have to see him! Where is he?" The drunkard's words were quick and chopped and he struggled to sit up.

Feuilly pushed him back down, calling for Jolly as he did so. "Lie down."

Jolly rushed into the room, stumbling over himself as he did and finally came to kneel clumsily next to the injured man. "Lie back, Grantaire. You're only going to make it worse."

"Where's Enjolras?" he demanded.

"Resting in the next room."

"I have to see him… He's all right, isn't he? Of course he is…Apollo's invisible. I have to see him!"

"He's resting, Grantaire. He was injured, as were you. You both need time…"

"No, I have to see him!" Grantaire all but yelled, panic rising in his eyes and voice.

"You can't!" the young hypochondriac said as forcefully as he could.

Grantaire sat shaking for a moment, his eyes glancing around the room wildly and he wrapped his arms around himself. "He's dead, isn't he? That's why you won't let me see him…" he murmured.

"He's not dead, Grantaire, only wounded," Feuilly said as soothingly as he could, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Please understand, you both need time to rest and heal."

"It wouldn't hurt to have us in the same room," Grantaire continued on. "The only explanation is he's dead and you just won't tell me."

"Who's dead?" Combeferre asked from the doorway.

Grantaire looked up at him, his eyes pleading. "They won't tell me, but I know it's true."

The young doctor motioned for Feuilly and Jolly to move back and he took a seat next to the panicked man. "What won't they tell you, Grantaire?" he asked gently.

"That Enjolras is dead… It's the only reason they won't let me see him."

"You both need rest, Grantaire…"

"You too!" he growled. "Won't any of you tell me?"

Combeferre frowned and stood. "Jolly, go check on Enjolras, if you please. Feuilly, would you help me get Grantaire to his feet?"

"To his feet? But-"

"Please."

Feuilly nodded as he and the med student each took one of Grantaire's arms, pulling him upward gently. It wasn't far, but only in the next room over. Jolly was next to Enjolras who lay on a pallet much like Grantaire's. The blond revolutionary lay silently, eyes closed and face pale. Beads of sweat had formed on his face a tinge of blush on his high cheeks were clear signs of the fever that plagued him already.

"He's not awake," Combeferre murmured to his distraught friend whom he held up. "But you can see he is alive."

Grantaire pulled away and stumbled a couple of steps before falling down next to his leader. "He's so pale…" he whispered as he reached a shaky hand to touch his face. "Has he woken up?"

"Once, when we first got the two of you downstairs, but not since."

"We're running out of time," Feuilly said from his place. "Do you think he'll be awake by tomorrow morning?"

"I don't know. Twenty-four hours isn't time to heal from these wounds and that man should have known it. He didn't leave a name, did he?"

Jolly frowned and leaned against the wall. "How can he give us orders, anyway? We won the battle."

Combeferre gave him a tired smile. "We'll deal with it as it comes, my friend. For now, let us focus on getting Enjolras well enough to talk to him by tomorrow morning."

"You could talk to him," Feuilly murmured.

"I could, but I'd rather Enjolras do it. He is our leader in all of this and he is the one with the clear vision."

"What will happen if he doesn't wake up in time?" Grantaire asked quietly.

"We'll deal with that if it happens. For now, let's do all we can for him." Combeferre watched the drunkard for a moment. "Would you like us to bring your pallet in here?"

Grantaire nodded absently, his eyes still focused on his injured friend and he smoothed back the sweat-soaked blond hair. "You'll live to see all you fought for," he murmured. "I'd do anything to see it. Even… give up drinking if I must."

Combeferre smiled down at him and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We'll pull through this, Grantaire," he promised, then turned and ushered everyone else out of the room. They had a little over twelve hours until the nameless National Guard came back to speak with Enjolras. It would be that conversation, Combeferre was sure, that would settle all the rest, leading them to peace and to the poor of France's freedom. It was what they had all longed for, and for now he simply hoped that Enjolras would live to see it.

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CaliGirl-HPLVR: thanks muchly :D

Cecilia Carlton: Thank you for the correction of the French. I'm actually planning to start taking the language the second semester of this year, so perhaps it'll get a bit better by then lol. Oh dear… that is a blaring mistake, isn't it? Hmm.. I thought I'd read over it well enough. Terribly sorry but thank you for pointing it out. My mind tends to work faster than my fingers and I'll come out with some of the most random of words… I'm still working on the 'how they won' issue. I hardly ever have a clear view of exactly what I want to do with a story when I start… the stories write themselves, it seems. I've got one idea I'm playing with that seems like the most believable of my different paths I can take, but one path will be chosen soon and it will be explained, so don't worry :) Thanks for the review! (oh yeah, btw, read your profile and yay! Another Laurie R King fan with Mary Russell:) )

Anna:glomps: you read it! Yay! You should like this chapter, much Grantaire/Enjolras angst… Gotta love it, right?

Melissa Brandybuck: Sorry… I specialize in angsty fics… but it'll get better by the end! Don't worry! I hate sad endings and rarely write them


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: At the End of Twenty-four Hours

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**

Grantaire awoke sometime in the middle of the night to the sound of moaning. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the moon's beams through the window, then a moment longer to remember where he was and just what had happened. It was Enjolras, he realized, who had moaned in his restless sleep. The revolutionary was tossing a bit and finally cried out, the sound breaking the drunkard's heart as he struggled to sit up. "Enjolras?" he murmured. When he received no response he reached a tentative hand to the other man's shoulder, shaking him lightly.

Two blue eyes shot open he lay there for a moment like that. He did not move other than his ragged breathing and the shudder that shook his body. Finally he blinked once and turned his eyes to Grantaire. He simply stared silently.

"Hey there, Apollo," the drunkard greeted with a forced grin.

"Hello, Grantaire," came the raspy response. "So you're alive."

"You don't have to sound so disappointed," the other grumbled.

"I'm not."

"Really?"

"No."

Grantaire stopped and sat in silence until he saw a very small smile perk his idol's lips. "You're playing me," he said slowly, unsure.

The smile grew a bit. "Yes."

"The fever's gotten to you."

"No…" Enjolras murmured, letting his eyes slip closed for a moment. "We've won, Grantaire."

"Did we? I think I remember something about it… Is that what's put you in such a fine humour?"

"Doesn't it you?" Enjolras paused, letting one eye open so that he might be able to look at his companion. "No, of course it doesn't."

"I'm not unhappy over it, certainly," Grantaire assured him. "I simply thought it wouldn't happen. What chance did we have, honestly? I still would like to know how it happened…"

"The people must have risen up," Enjolras responded quietly, the smile still on his lips. "They heard us call and they answered. They are free."

"It's not over, you know. Now come all the boring talks that you'll have to be apart of. Combeferre and them were talking about someone coming back tomorrow for you…. to talk."

The injured revolutionary shifted, grimacing as he did so. "Me specifically?"

"I suppose."

Enjolras nodded, and let his eyes slip closed again. "Grantaire…I fear I won't make much of a companion for conversation at the moment," he murmured, exhaustion evident in his voice.

"Then sleep."

"I think I will." He opened his eyes again, briefly, and looked up as if unsure if he should say what he was about to say. "Will you…?"

"I'll be here."

The blond man did not respond other than to allow himself to relax against the makeshift pillow under his head and drift to sleep.

* * *

"I don't like it," Courfeyrac murmured. "He's not well enough."

"I agree," Combeferre answered in equally hushed tones. "But…"

"But what? We simply won't let him in. Enjolras is-"

"Enjolras is what?"

Both men spun to see a very shaky revolutionary leaning against the doorframe. His face was ashen pale and his eyes bright with fever, but there he was, up and dressed, even if a bit sloppy looking. One would have to give him that… He could only do so much.

"What are you doing up?" Combeferre demanded, moving towards him to usher him back to the pallet.

"Grantaire said someone would be by this morning."

"Grantaire needs to keep his big mouth shut," Courfeyrac growled. "Where is the winecask anyway?"

"Sleeping."

"As you should be," the med student grumbled. "Enjolras, if you must be the one they speak to, they can do so with you lying back and resting. What good does it do any of us – or yourself – to die of infection or breaking the stitches I worked so hard on."

"I'll do my best to keep from doing so."

"The National Guard from yesterday is here!" Joly hollered as he turned into sight at the end of the hallway. "Enjolras!"

The blond man nodded and forced himself away from the doorway, stumbling a bit, but then regaining his footing. His shaking hand hovered right over his wounds as if he were forcing himself not to wrap his arms around himself and sink to the floor in pain. He shook his head as Combeferre reached towards him. "No… I must… do this on my own."

The smaller man nodded. "At least let me come with you."

"That you may do," Enjolras said with a small smile.

The revolutionary leader had not been in the main room since earlier the day before and he'd seen little of what they'd made it into. They had given him his own room – though be it only a little more than a large closet – until Grantaire had decided to join, but in this room there were men and boys lain out wherever there was space for them. Drinking tables had been turned into operating tables and still more who were not as badly wounded sat upon the stairs, waiting.

"How many?" Enjolras breathed.

"Many," Combeferre admitted quietly.

"And… of Les Amis?"

The other man sighed as he took his glasses from his nose and tried to clean them as best as he could. His voice was quiet, sad. "Lesgles was the first to go," he murmured. "And Bahorel died on top of the barricade. He would have lived, I think, had he not come crashing down as he did." Combeferre shuddered slightly as he replaced his still-dirty glasses. "Jehan… I couldn't save him. I tried. How I tried…"

"They did not die in vain," Enjolras whispered. "Just like that girl that came looking for… Where's Marius?"

Combeferre blinked. "I haven't seen him."

"Not amongst the patients?"

"No, nor… the dead."

Enjolras shook his head, regretting the action as he did so. "He could not have disappeared completely."

"Surely he didn't…"

"Marius wouldn't have deserted us. Not while it was under his own power."

"That man… The one that came in the National Guard's uniform and took the spy away… He acted funny around him, don't you think?"

"Funny how? I was rather preoccupied."

"Of course. I don't know how, per say. Just that it was odd. As if perhaps he knew Marius and Marius acted as if he'd seen him before."

Enjolras nodded. "If you can find someone to spare, send them to look for Marius and that man. Do you know his name?"

"No, I'm afraid not, but it must wait. I will not leave you to this man alone."

"I can handle it."

"On any other day, Enjolras, but you and I know that you're barely standing here now. He'll be here shortly, I'm sure. Joly said he was lurkng around.Early and certainly not late."

"Very good prediction, Monsieur."

Combeferre turned to see the man from before. "I'm not surprised."

"And you," the Guard said, "look only a little better."

Enjolras frowned, eyes taking on a cold glare. "I'm here, though not on demand."

"Surely not, Monsieur Enjolras."

The younger man stiffened. "I'm afraid that you have me at a disadvantage, Monsieur, as you seem to know my name but I am unaware of yours."

"Bouvet," the Guard said simply. "Come, we have much to discuss."

"We can do so here."

Bouvet grimaced at the idea. "Surely not. Amongst all of this?"

"You may see what you've forced the people of France into."

"I have?"

"You and your people."

"You make it sound as if you are not of this class. Your father would very much disagree with you there, as you were born into high privilege."

"My father disowned me some time ago. Whatever I might have been born into was forfeit – gladly so – the day I opened my eyes to see the world as it is, not as they say it is."

Bouvet sneered and motioned to a door. "I'd like privacy speaking to you, Monsieur. If you'd please?"

"I'll come to," Combeferre piped up.

"I'd say not," the Guard responded, waving him off. "Go about your business, doctor. Many men seem to need your assistance."

Combeferre glanced at Enjolras, a silent question in his eyes. When the blond man nodded he sighed and turned away to go about his business.

Bouvet ushered Enjolras into the room and shut the door. Surprisingly enough, it was empty. "Why do you think your men won, Monsieur Enjolras?" he asked abruptly.

"The people of France rose up against those that oppressed them," Enjolras answered steadily. He frowned when the taller man laughed outright.

"Is that what you think, young fool?" Bouvet laughed. "You think the people rose up for _you_?"

"For themselves! For France!"

"You are an idealist, your father was right." He shook his head and moved to the window. "Have you seen it? Out there? I heard your doctor friend saying that you lost some of the original members of your little group of rebels."

"They died for our cause."

Bouvet turned, dark eyes flashing dangerously. "Is that so? And do you think that you've truly won or do you know nothing of the revolution that took place at the end of the last century? Yes, the people rose, and lobbed off the heads of anyone who had money. They became the tyrants themselves." He faced Enjolras fully now. "What of you, young revolutionary? Will you become the next tyrant?"

"I'm no tyrant. I fought for the freedom of the people. This will not be a bloodbath."

"It already has been," Bouvet said with a shrug. "Look about you. The air is rank with death and the streets run with blood. Chaos is erupting the streets. We'll have another Reign of Terror?"

"I'll tell you again: this will _not_ be a bloodbath. I don't look to kill those with money, do you hear me? I look to liberate the people with nothing. I doubt you've seen that, sir. Have you? Have you seen the men that work days and nights, the women that leave their children to roam the streets because they too have to take a job in a factory that pays little more than nothing? Tell me, Monsieur Bouvet, have you seen it?"

Bouvet frowned, his lips twitching slightly in irritation. "You're revolution will not hold."

"It already is."

The other man moved quicker than Enjolras could follow, grasping the boy's chin firmly in his large hand and jerking him upward so that he was looking straight at him. The sudden movement caused Enjolras to have to bite back a cry of pain. "You are blind, child. Your illusions blind you to what will happen. They may rally behind you for a while, but when they do not get exactly what they want from you, you will suddenly become the enemy. You have wealthy and royal blood running through your veins. They will seek to spill it. You will bring around a second Reign of Terror and I will _not _see it come to pass, do you hear me?"

"My blood is no different from theirs," Enjolras murmured. His eyes had taken on a glazed stare of sorts through the pain, but he looked up suddenly, those blue orbs becoming sharp once more. "You forget, Monsieur, it is people like you that we rise against. Those that think they can rule simply because they are born into wealth."

"And you?"

"I matter little."

"You will be the key in all of this." He dropped the revolutionary back down, watching as he struggled to keep his footing. Bouvet shook his head and turned towards the door. "You may not have been the only barricade in Paris yesterday, but yours was the one that the white flag was first raised at. You will be a key in all of this. We shall see where it goes."

"So that's it?"

"For today."

"And when do we discuss something of value, Monsieur."

"What would that be?"

"The people!"

Bouvet allowed a wicked smile to cross his lips. "When you aren't about ready to collapse. I'll be around, Monsieur le revolutionary. Count on that."

As soon as he was gone Combeferre was in the room. He caught Enjolras as the latter's knees finally gave way and he tumbled forward. The med student gathered his friend up as best as he could and laid him out on the floor. Enjolras took in a sharp breath and his eyes opened widely. He gasped for a moment before finally settling back down.

"And you said you could handle it," Combeferre murmured softly as he smoothed his friend's hair back. "Easy, Enjolras. Shh…"

"Anything… about Marius?"

"I sent Gavroche. He knew something of it all."

"Gavroche? I thought I saw the boy fall."

Combeferre gave his friend a grin. "Took a tumble, but he patches up very nicely. He's just fine and ready to be of use once more. He'll be back soon enough, I should say."

Enjolras nodded silently.

"Do you think you can make it back to the other room?" At the injured man's silence, Combeferre placed a hand on his shoulder. "If I were to help you?"

Enjolras seemed to think on this a moment and finally nodded. "Yes, that could do," he murmured at last.

* * *

Caligirl-HPLVR: Thanks so much! Glad you're liking it :)

Melissa Brandybuck: It'll be happy, but it always gets worse before better. Poor Enjolras and everyone else…

Sparxxa: Thanks very much!

Cheese: interesting little thing you recommended there… Thanks for reading :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Of Marius and Cosette

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**

"…took him to Rue Plumet…."

"… alright?"

"Don't know…"

Enjolras cringed as the voices faded in and out around him. The first had been higher and nearly every other word cut off before finished. He finally allowed his eyes to slip open a little and he caught sight of Gavroche giving his report to Combeferre. "Who?" he managed.

Both gamin and student turned to look at their leader. Combeferre was at his side a moment later. "Awake now, are you?"

"Who's where?" Enjolras murmured.

"Gavroche found Marius."

"And you didn't get a good look?" Grantaire asked from his pallet.

"Nope. Sorry 'bout that, but the girl nearly saw me as it was."

Enjolras opened his mouth to speak, but Combeferre cut him off before he had the chance. "I know what you're thinking and as your doctor, I forbid it."

"You're not a doctor yet," the wounded man reminded him softly.

"I'm the closest thing you've got. The Republic will need you, Enjolras. You cannot waste your strength now. You'll need ever bit of it for when the real talks begin."

"You're better at negotiations, Combeferre."

"Perhaps, but this is yours. Your vision and your dream. You will lead the people where they need to go and show them what they can be, but to do that you must be alive and well. I don't know if you've noticed, but you have two holes in you, front and back. You can't go-"

"I will go, with our blessing or without. Marius may not have joined Les Amis, but he was one of us in spirit. He fought with us and I will not leave him in the hands of strangers."

Combeferre frowned deeply. "Then we'll take a carriage. It's not safe to be walking about out there."

"I will walk like any other man," Enjolras snapped, sitting up as best he could.

"Any other many would have more sense than you do," the med student mumbled, slightly irritated. "I'll make arrangements, lie back for now."

"I'm going to," Grantaire piped up. At Combeferre's weary look he grinned. "You're not getting him out of my sight again. Last time you did, he collapsed."

"I was just down the hall," Enjolras reminded him.

"True, but this is a ways away. I'm going too."

"Me too!" Gavroche exclaimed with a grin.

"I'm surrounded by men that have lost their minds," Combeferre grumbled. "Fine fine! Then Gavroche, make sure they rest until I get something set up."

"All right!" the boy answered enthusiastically and watched the elder man leave, shaking his head the whole way.

-------------

"Enjolras?"

The revolutionary looked up, his glazed over eyes focusing once more. Combeferre was worried, he knew, but he supposed the other man had a right to be. He couldn't say just how much time had passed since his wounds and the royalists' surrender, but he was sure that it wasn't any more than forty-eight hours. The doctor-in-training had every right to be worried, but Enjolras had no time to wait about until his wounds healed. His first priority next to the Republic – and they all knew that was number one – was finding and rescuing Marius.

"It's all right."

"I didn't ask if it was, I was going to ask if you were."

Two blue eyes turned towards him, glaring only slightly. He had every right. "I'll be all right."

"And now?"

Enjolras sighed. "Stop pushing me, Combeferre," he murmured.

"I'm just asking if you're well," Combeferre snapped, a frustrated look crossing his features.

"Of course I am," the blond man said sarcastically.

"Well, then, if you're so well, is there a reason you're simply sitting there when the carriage has long since stopped?"

"Don't patronize me," Enjolras hissed, his brilliant eyes lighting up in an anger that Combeferre had never seen directed at him. He flung open the door and stumbled his way out.

The young surgeon watched as his friend straightened up, pale as snow, and walked stiffly to the door of he house. Did he plan to simple waltz up there and knock? Well why not? They had won, hadn't they?

It was nearing a minute and a half before the door was opened by a very shaky woman. She looked perfectly frightened bye the angel of doom standing in the door, eyes blazing in all of his wrath. "We're here for Marius Pontmercy."

"M-monsieur P-pontmercy is r-re-res-resting," she finally managed to get out.

"Then the master of your household, Madame."

She nodded, scooting off with a speed that was only from fear. The man that Enjolras recognized as the one from the barricades – the one in the National Guard uniform with the good aim – entered. His face spoke nothing of the inner turmoil within his soul.

Enjolras straightened himself as best as he could. "Monsieur, we've come for-"

"You can't have him."

"Excuse me? What right do you have to say-"

"Come."

Enjolras looked started at the curt sound the aging man's voice. He nodded silently and did so. As he was led down the hallway he asked, "May I ask your name, Monsieur? You fought with us, yet I do not know."

The man looked thoughtful for half a moment before answering. "Valjean. My name is Valjean." He pushed a door open silently and motioned for the revolutionary to look.

The blond man did so, and as he did his eyes fell upon something he wouldn't have imagined. Marius was held as no hostage, but as a guest. A guest with a sleeping girl curled up next to him.

"You see," Valjean said quietly, "he can't leave now. He must rest, recover, and then he may return to you."

Enjolras nodded his understanding and turned to leave, but turned back. "Why did you fight with us, Monsieur? Why did you save him?"

He motioned to the sleeping girl. "She loves him," he answered, as if it were all the explanation in the world.

And apparently it was, for Enjolras took that and left. Leaving his friend in the care of this stranger, but with full trust.

* * *

Melissa Brandybuck: Better is so relevant……

Caligirl-HPLVR: Awww! Thanks so much! Yeah:waves a "go Enjolras" flag:

LilCosette: Thanks! I like Gavroche too… He's adorable

Cecilia Carlton: I'm glad that turned out well. I enjoyed that bit, and I'm pleased you did too

Eponine Poe: Yes, Eponine died. I'm very sorry. I like her too. She has some of the best lines ever.

M Mabeuf: Thanks for the corrections.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: Professors and Men of Mercy

* * *

**

By the time that Combeferre had ushered Enjolras back to bed, the other was paler than he had been – an incredible feat within itself - and he fell onto the pallet with a low moan of pain and a struggle to both cough and to refrain from coughing. He curled into himself, back bent so that he might turn in such a way to bring his long legs up as far as he could without aggravating his wound, and yet to protect himself as the deepest part of his mind told him to do. It hurt and at that very moment, the white hot pain controlled his subconscious actions.

"Is he alright?" Gavroche asked, his eyes widening at Les Amis' leader.

"He will be," the med student assured him. "Enjolras is very strong and very brave."

The youth nodded and left Combeferre alone with his friend. The young student heard the door shut behind him and he fell to the floor next to Enjolras, taking the other's slender hand in his own and feeling the clammy skin beneath his own. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, not sure if his friend could even hear.

"You have no reason…" Enjolras gasped. "I'm… just glad… we've done what we set out to do."

"It's not over yet, Enjolras, surely you know that," Combeferre cried.

"We'll take the days as they come," his leader promised, squeezing his hand. "Whatever it may through at us, we simply continue on."

"It's easier said than done, my friend."

"But it can be done."

"Enjolras?"

Both men turned to see Grantaire leaning heavily on the doorframe.

"You imbecile!" Combeferre growled as he flew to his feet. "Bed! Now! I left you in there a moment ago with the assumed understanding that you would _stay_."

The drunkard gave him a lopsided grin. "In a room without Apollo."

"You are a fool," the student announced as if it were a new revelation.

"A fool that will stay," Grantaire murmured, stumbling his way over to the makeshift pallet they'd hoped he'd abandoned for the better one that had been set up. The day's journey to find Marius had taken its toll on both men and they needed rest. Preferably apart seeing as they managed to rile each other up so. But it seemed that was in the future and not the now. Combeferre watched Grantaire plop down. "Oh," the drunkard continued with a slur after he'd taken his seat, "there's a man to see you outside. Looked like a professor."

"Did he give a name?" Enjolras asked tiredly.

"Du… something."

"DuPont?"

"That's it."

Enjolras turned to Combeferre who visibly slumped. "But-"

"Bring him in," the blue-eyed man said with a sigh.

Combeferre looked as if he were about to argue, but then stopped, nodded, and left the room.

"Who is he?" Grantaire asked quietly.

"A friend."

"Why wasn't he there?"

"He was… afraid."

"Of the afterward," a new voice said and both young men looked up to see a well dressed, only slightly elder man. He was clean shaven, dressed in a nice, but not overly expensive suit, and top hat. He carried a cane in one hand and a small smile on his lips. "I've come to see you, Enjolras."

"It is good to see you," the injured leader admitted softly.

DuPont knelt next to him. "You look dreadful."

"I feel as much."

"Combeferre looked frustrated."

Enjolras chuckled at this. "He is. I do believe I've proven to be a difficult patient. Gallivanting off to find missing comrades and all."

"I see. Quite an adventure after it all."

"Don't tell me," Enjolras murmured, shifting so that he might look at the other in the eye, "you came just to discuss my ill state of health and Combeferre's irritation. Surely you've heard of that elsewhere."

"Yes, the news is out. Some sources have you on your deathbed and still others simply planning your next move."

"Is that so?" Enjolras asked with a smile on his lips. "Somewhere in the middle, I'd say."

"I wouldn't say so, but if you wish it."

"What are you here for, Professor?"

The young teacher smiled softly, placing a hand gently on the injured man's forehead. "I was afraid, you know that. Now I wish to make amends by offering what I may to you."

"Continue on," Enjolras answered him swiftly. "Continue on with your classes, your research and it all… Also…."

"Also?"

"Make room for those that wish to learn. Those like Gavroche."

"Of course."

"For the abaissè."

"I will."

"Good," Enjolras breathed and was asleep.

DuPont started at the sudden lack of response and checked his breathing. "He's alseep…"

"He has a right to be exhausted," Grantaire said from his place.

"Yes, I'd say so." He looked at the sleeping revolutionary and smiled. "Very much so."

------------

The sun had set by the time Cosette came from the small room. "Was someone here earlier, Papa?" she murmured sleepily.

"A friend of Marius'," Valjean answered quietly.

"A friend?"

"Yes. His revolutionary friend. Monsieur Enjolras has left him in our care until we deem it fit. Or Marius does, I suppose."

"I love him, Papa," Cosette said, trying to will Valjean to meet her eyes. He had not so much as looked at her when she walked in. She inched forward, noticing his grimace at her words and she lay a gentle hand on his arm. "But I love you no less, my dearest Papa. Won't you let me love both?"

It was at those words that Valjean felt himself crumble. He spun, surprising the girl, and clung to her. After she moved past the initial surprise, she buried her face into his jacket and allowed him to cling and sob. She embraced him tightly as she had not done since she was young. "I will not leave you. We will not leave you."

Valjean pulled away gently. "Thank you," he murmured. "And I shall do my best to not leave you."

She smiled, thinking him only playing, and turned. "I should check on him."

"Yes, you should," her father said kindly. "And I must get some fresh air. I'll be back shortly."

She nodded and watched him disappear out the front door, a smile on her lips as she turned back to her love.

------

"You haven't been out of that house since you brought him."

Valjean looked startled at the sound of the voice. He turned to see Javert standing in the shadows, his blue eyes darkened with emotions untold. "You're here to arrest me."

"You assume too much," Javert grumbled. "Haven't you read the papers?"

"I've had little time for it."

"I'm dead," Javert said simply, as if it explained everything. "Why didn't you take him to his grandfather?"

The ex convict looked startled once more. "I thought to, but then thought against it. To separate them now… I couldn't bear it."

"To see that child in pain?" Javert asked. "The man of mercy once more? Always. I take it she's the whore's daughter?"

"Fantine's."

"Yes," the inspector grumbled, looking perfectly irritated by the whole matter.

"If not to arrest me, Javert, then why have you come?"

"To say goodbye. It seemed appropriate after everything."

The words rang oddly in the cooling air. "Goodbye?" Valjean echoed. "Then you'll leave me be…? Or… Do you mean to leave everyone be?"

"I've tried that. The river wouldn't have me."

It was only then that Valjean noticed the state the former inspector was in. His blond hair was tangled and pulled free of its traditional ponytail, hanging loosely against his shoulders. His blue eyes had lost their intensity, leaving a hollowness that was almost frightening. He'd lost his overcoat somewhere and the toe of his left boot was nearly broken through. He held his left arm close to him as if it were injured and when he moved it was with a limp. He nodded suddenly. "Goodbye then, Valjean. I'd tip my hat but it would seem I have none."

"Wait," Valjean said without meaning to.

The injured officer turned to look at him. "What?"

"You…" the con began, searching for something. Anything. They'd spent two decades – or had it been more? – in a runabout with one another and this was it? "You're injured," he aid at last. "Come inside."

"I shall not be a bother," Javert said with a wave of his good hand. "Give my regards to the girl."

"Give them yourself. Please."

"Why?"

"I don't know…" Valjean murmured thoughtfully. "Perhaps the 'man of mercy' as you called me simply must act."

A small smile perked Javert's thin lips and he nodded once, falling back into his stone cold expression. He followed his former nemesis into his home and caught sight of Fantine's child. She was everything her mother could have been if given the chance. Full of life, beautiful and fair. Pure, no doubt, and with a heart as large as her father's. No, not the man that had left her mother alone in the world, but the man that had raised her.

"How is he?" Valjean asked gently.

"Better."

"Might I ask you to boil some tea for us, Cosette? Monsieur le inspector surely could use some by the looks of him."

"Of course, Papa," the young lady answered and moved swiftly away, leaving the con to tend to the inspector.

"Let me have a look," Valjean said sternly, motioning to Javert's arm.

"I'd really rather you not."

"You are in my home and you will abide by it," Valjean said in a low, authoritative voice, much like he used when he'd told Javert that Fantine would be freed all those years ago.

The inspector relented and slipped his tattered jacket from his shoulders, hissing in pain as he did so. He closed his eyes as Valjean's hands moved over the broken bone. "It's broken," the larger man said matter-of-factly. "It needs to be set."

"Get on with it," Javert growled through clenched teeth.

The other raised an eyebrow, looking as if he might question the sudden trust. Perhaps it was not that at all, but simply the wish to get the pain over and done with. As Valjean would rather as well, seeing as Cosette would return. The inspector let out a gasp of pain as the bone was put firmly back in place. "And what else?"

"I've a sprained ankle and bruises. The arm was the worst of it."

"You look as if you bumped your head."

"What of it?" Javert demanded, irritated. Had this man not dragged him in here and was he now his doctor? He had not asked for the help, only a simple goodbye. He thought it would be the right thing to do and now he regretted it.

"If you'd like to die of head wounds on your own time, you are certainly welcome to it, but not under my roof."

"And who brought me here?"

Valjean smiled slightly at this. "We have rooms," he said simply. "Until you're rested."

"Why?" the inspector asked once more.

"Because you are no longer the inspector chasing the convict. You are a man in need of help. As we all are."

Javert stared at him, eyes showing his utter confusion of the actions. The man of mercy surely had come again and left his mind in utter confusion.

* * *

Caligirl-HPLVR: Thanks muchly

Melissa Brandybuck: well he won, so he has time to have a heart now lol. Unlike before, seemingly…. I suppose Enjolras is what you'd call 'one track minded' ne?

Mizamour: Thank you very much!


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: God's Mercy

* * *

**

"He's asleep." Combeferre's voice was harsh and clipped. His eyes narrowed as he glared at Bouvet, causing none of the discomfort that it was meant to.

"Lovely. Wake him."

"Obviously you didn't hear him well enough," Courfeyrac growled from the doorway exiting Enjolras' room. "He's sleeping."

"I heard quite well," Bouvet grumbled with a bored look on his features. "And quite frankly, I don't care. He's in my custody now."

Both Combeferre and Courfeyrac felt their jaws drop. "But-"

The National Guard shrugged. "This place has been deemed unsafe. There's too much unrest in the streets near here."

"And you wish to move him where?" Combeferre questioned, voice tight.

"To a safe location."

"We won't simply hand our leader over to the likes of you," Courfeyrac snapped, eyes blazing.

"Then you've condemned him to death," Bouvet said simply, his eyes serious. "If you wish him to die, you will leave him here. But I swear to you that it will not be long before those of the street swarm this little café. They know you still hold wounded National Guard that could not be moved."

Combeferre's eyes drifted to the door that led to a back room in which the said men were resting. "We should move everyone then," he said quietly. "Enjolras does not want anymore deaths."

Bouvet nodded, motioning to the men with him to go to the back room, front rooms, and to the upstairs. He turned back to the two young students before him. "I will put you two in charge of your own core group."

"It has to be done now?" Combeferre whispered.

"Now. Any delay will mean their deaths."

The student nodded his understanding and moved to his leader's room.

--------

It was a drug induced sleep in which Enjolras slept. His skin was pale and covered with a fever's sweat that beaded against him. A flush had crossed those snow-white cheeks for some time now and he cried out as Combeferre and Courfeyrac lifted him up and onto a stretcher to better carry him with.

"You're hurting him!" Grantaire cried from his place, struggling to get up.

"They can't help it," Bouvet said from behind him. "That boy's been through a lot. A body can only take so much."

"He won't die," the drunkard said stubbornly.

"I would wager a good fortune that he will not," the dark eyed man replied. "A body can only take so much, but a soul as strong as his can will it on. The question will be how long his soul lasts."

"What do you mean by that?"

Bouvet sighed, gazing out the window to the carriage in which they were taking Enjolras to. "This will not be easy and it will not turn out as he plans. The people… You know the people didn't rise up for you, don't you?"

"What?" Grantaire asked, his eyes wide. "Then how on earth….?"

"My superior officer did not want to see any more blood shed. The king will honour that decision, but not easily. It will be a fight against the Royalists ever step of the way and they will not wait until he has recovered. The people that have now decided to come flooding into the streets after the danger is over are overturning everything. They're looting stores and going after those with money. It will be another Reign of Terror if Enjolras does nothing. Perhaps if he does something it shall continue that way. It will not be an easy road, this path he has chosen."

"Will you help him?" Grantaire asked, watching Bouvet carefully.

"In what I can," the other answered. "Now come along lest we get caught up in something we don't want to see."

--------

"Is there someone else here?"

The question caught Cosette off her guard. She turned to look at Marius with questioning eyes. "How did you know?"

"I have little to do other than listen," he answered with a smile. "When you're not here, that is."

She smiled at him and leaned over. "Your fever is down," she announced.

"That's always a good sign. Who is it?"

"Who is who, my love?"

"Whoever is here."

"Oh. Someone Papa knows. I don't really know who he is. Monsieur Javert is his name, or at least that is what Papa calls him."

"Javert?" Marius echoed, recognizing the name. "Inspector Javert?"

"I really wouldn't know," Cosette answered. "Papa just calls him 'Javert.'"

The injured man nodded, settling into his pillows. "How long have I been here, Cosette?"

"Three days, I believe. Closer to four, though." She took his hand. "Does your shoulder pain you?"

"No," he lied.

She smiled. "I should let you rest, love." She leaned over and kissed his forehead, bringing a smile to his lips, and turned to leave.

Cosette closed the door quietly behind her and looked to the next room. Her papa's friend was there, though they didn't seem like old friends. Both had a wary look about them when close to each other. She peeked in to see her father sitting quietly in a chair next to the injured man's bedside. He had a book propped up to read and every once and a while he'd take a second to glance to at the sleeping man.

She smiled and moved past. There was plenty to be done and it was time to get with it.

---------

"I'm not a child," a voice said from the bed.

"Excuse me?" Valjean questioned.

Javert cracked a blue eye open to glare at him. "I said, 'I'm not a child.' I do not need to be watched over as one."

"Ah," the ex con acknowledged.

"So you may leave."

"Ah." He didn't move, but brought his book back up to eye level.

Javert made an exasperated sound. "Get out."

"Tell me what happened."

The inspector looked startled. "What do you mean?"

"Your injuries and that comment you made. 'The river wouldn't have me,' you said. What did you mean?"

"I thought it quite obvious." When Valjean said nothing and only stared, Javert sighed. "I'm tired, Valjean," he murmured very softly, letting his eyes flutter shut. "I'm tired of searching for something that is impossible to grasp a hold of."

"And what would that be?" his former nemesis asked gently.

"The truth, it would seem." Javert opened his eyes and looked straight at the larger man. "I threw myself into the Seine."

"You… Why?"

"Are you dense?" the inspector demanded. "Everything is upside down."

_The law is inside out! The world is upside down!_ Valjean remembered the younger man's outcry at the barricades. Most of all he remembered the utter confusion at his release. "You were willing to take your own life because you couldn't grasp it," he murmured softly.

"And if I was?"

Valjean stood slowly, eyes never leaving Javert's. "Do you have family?"

"In a way."

An eyebrow lifted in question.

Javert waved his good hand as if waving it off. "Adoptive parents, in a way. Nothing official."

"You? Going about something in an unofficial manner?" Valjean questioned with a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

"I was thirteen and without much of a choice in the matter."

"If you'll give me the information I require, I'll contact them for you."

"Why?" Javert demanded, glaring at the other man. "Why all of this?"

"I told you-"

"Yes you said," the former inspector snapped. He closed his eyes in frustration for a moment and reopened them. "Everything is _wrong_. You are not supposed to be who you are. I am not supposed to be what I have become…"

"Compassionate towards your fellow human being?" Valjean ventured his guess to what the other meant.

"_Lenient_!"

"Why?"

"It's not how it's supposed to be!"

Valjean forced himself not to smile. Javert, in this state, reminded him of a confused child that was struggling to grasp something beyond his reach. "You speak of God's justice," he said very slowly, tasting the words as he said them, "but you do not think about God's mercy." This said he stood, putting down his book and left the room. Javert said nothing, but he did stare. He stared as his former enemy left him to rest. Stared as the man he had hated allowed him his request (demand) and stared as the words sunk in.

------------------

A/N: Sorry for the long delay. School, school, school, you know. Tends to be all study for nothing… who knows? I AM thinking to changing to a writing degree, as you are my readers, what would you say to that? Anyway, I plan to at least begin the next chapter after posting this one, so yay! Maybe the next one won't take as long.

AmZ: Yes, I suppose it is an interesting image, but I'd fail to see how he could come out of it (trying to kill himself) alive and still well. I mean, I couldn't just let him die… He's Javert. He's my second favorite. But alas, something had to happen to him.

Melissa Brandybuck: Déjà vu scares me. I get it too often. That feeling when you're just sitting there and your mind whispers, 'you've been here before.' It's too unnerving for words.

Mizamour: Ah! I'm glad! I always worry about characterization. I think it frightens me most about fanfiction… In my own novels, I'm choosing the characters' personalities and there's no worries, but these have already been chosen….

Tay-kun: It wouldn't have him b/c he tried to kill himself and it wouldn't have him. It spit him back out, you could say. DuPont is just the name I chose. I thought of the professor's character and hadn't thought of a name until right before I wrote this chapter (ages ago, right?) and looked up surnames online and found DuPont. I think I might have used the name in one of my novels too… can't remember. It's just that good of a name, right :P

Caligirl-HPLVR: Thanks very much! I was hoping characters would be in character. Always scared of that….

A Little Fall of Rain: Wonderful name. Wonderful song. Thanks very much!

Budgie-loon: Come now, Enjolras was ready to give up his life for the people! No evil dictator Enjolrases! That would be terrible… Just ultra angsty Enjolrases. Those are more fun.

Anna Maxwell:glomps: Angel of Doom Enjolras…. Hmm… I should draw that. Couldn't you see it with the anime-style to it? A funny pic and a serious one to go with it… I mean… A serious (SIRIUS!) pic and a funny… yeah. I DO have a lot of characters don't I? More than usual. Much thanks that I'm handling them correctly. Hopefully I'll continue with that. Good things… Hmm… Depends on what you mean by good :P

Unseengenius: Hmm… Well, I haven't taken French yet. Plan to do that next semester, so I'll learn that then. But until then, thanks very much for the correction. I'll use that from now on. I like Eponine too… Such a sad fate, but it had to be done, I suppose… Yeah, good 'ol Javert. Gotta love him. :)

TBC

TS


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: Of the King and Unsuspected Visitors

* * *

**

Combeferre's nose scrunched as they entered the small refuge. "This isn't…"

"It's temporary," Bouvet assured him stiffly.

"Even temporary it could kill them. Look at the filth."

"You accuse me, then?" the National Guard asked, an unusual look glittering in his dark eyes. "After all I've done?"

Courfeyrac could not keep his silence. "All you've done?" he hissed. "It was you people who did this! Certainly after 'all you've done'!"

"No one asked you to go get yourselves killed!"

The two students' eyes narrowed. Bouvet's soft point, apparently, was just that. They had not managed to get that particular reaction from the icy man yet.

He continued. "No one ask you people to play savior. The people never asked for it, you forced it on them. Is that what you think they wanted? Do you think they wanted their sons and daughters to die for that far-off thing we've dubbed 'freedom'? Do you even think there is such a thing?"

"There is," came the weak voice from the bed and everyone turned to see Enjolras, blue eyes opened a bit and face turned towards them. There was no mistaking the expression on his face. He had not lost his will to speak for those he knew in his heart would wish him to speak for them. "There is a thing called Freedom. We've won it. We'll continue to fight for it if we must."

"And you'll die," Bouvet snapped.

"Sir!"

"_What_?"

The younger man that had called to him looked taken back by the sound of his voice. Apparently this outburst was unusual for his own men to hear as it was for the students. "I… A messenger, sir. He said… He said that Monsieur Enjolras should be ready for his audience by… day after tomorrow."

Even Bouvet looked surprised at this.

"Are they mad?" Combeferre demanded. "He's too badly wounded to-"

"The king, apparently, will have it no other way," the young man said apologetically. He looked far too innocent to be a part of the National Guard. Was he even of age? "If Monsieur does not go then Monsieur will get no other chance."

"I'll be there," Enjolras said clearly, surprising everyone with the strength he'd manage to put behind his voice. He was propping himself up, apparently trying to sit now. He waved Combeferre off without lifting a hand. His eyes said it all. _'Don't do this, my friend. I have to follow through. I knew it would come.' _"Tell the messenger to assure his king that I will be there."

The boy nodded and dashed off without even waiting to be dismissed.

"That was a foolish thing," Bouvet growled, agitation obviously not having worn off. "Do you want to die?"

"It's not that I want to die," Enjolras answered him quietly. "It's that I want them to have the chance to live. Combeferre, I will take some help getting to my feet."

"I must object to-"

"You wish me to lie around and test out what strength I have the day I'm supposed to arrive?" Enjolras asked with a raised eyebrow.

Combeferre sighed and reached a hand to him, pulling him very slowly to his feet and bracing him once he reached them. He draped one of his friend's arms around his own shoulders – his glare told Enjolras that he was lucky he was allowing this little help and was not ordering him straight back to his bed – and moved towards the door.

Bouvet stood with his head slightly cocked to the right, those dark depths looking more intense than ever. There was a man, he thought. He wasn't sure how, but he knew there was.

"You hurt him," Courfeyrac said menacingly behind him, taking him from his thoughts, "and I'll kill you."

----

Enjolras had made it as far as the main room before Combeferre refused to let him go any further. He warned him in the sternest voice he could muster that he'd drop him straight on the floor and let him tend to himself if the revolutionary leader would not sit for a moment at least. The blond nodded and sank gratefully to a rickety chair.

"This entire place is in shambles," Joly said quietly by the fireplace where he and Feuilly were trying to coax the logs to light. "I thought the café was bad until we came here. Bouvet says it's _safe_?"

"Bouvet says a lot," Combeferre grumbled.

"We'll see where his loyalties lie soon enough," Enjolras murmured thoughtfully. He looked up, eyes more awake looking than they had been since they'd come back from their trip to see Marius, and noticed everyone staring at him questioningly. He smiled slightly and motioned to Combeferre. "It's after dark now, isn't it? What do you say to stepping outside?"

"Outside?" Combeferre sputtered. "Outside?"

"That place beyond the door," the blond muttered sarcastically.

"I _know _what it is, Enjolras, I-"

"If you would not like to come, feel free to stay." He stood, albeit shaky, and started for the door.

Combeferre let out a frustrated snort and leapt to his own feet. He noticed Joly giving him a sympathetic glance. Well at least they'd gotten Grantaire to stay down… It was only a matter of time before he found out that Enjolras' meeting with the king was only two days away and then there'd be hell to pay.

-----

The stars were shining brightly outside; he could see that much from his bed. Javert shifted and all but rolled out, hissing in quiet pain. He'd heard voices, he now realized, and that was what had woken him. Not that he'd been sleeping all that soundly.

The former inspector made his way slowly through the darkness, toward the voices and then stopped dead. The man speaking with Valjean was tall, broad, and imposing. His grey hair was slicked back perfectly and the only part of him that seemed to be even the slightest bit askew was his coat, which was unbuttoned for the top three buttons.

Valjean's eyes, which had been focused on the man before him, now drifted to the entrance to the room. "Good evening, Inspector," he said politely.

Javert felt like a little boy caught stealing an apple. If he hadn't had years of experience and practice with the subduing of emotion rushing across his face he was sure he would have looked sheepish. The man turned and the inspector saw the lines that seemed much deeper than the last time they'd met.

"Javert," the man gasped, ever ounce of strain seeming to roll off of his broad shoulders and he crossed the space between them and clasped one large hand on the smaller man's uninjured shoulder. "How you've worried Bridget!"

"I'm terribly sorry," Javert murmured. "I hadn't expected to stop here. I would have been by when it was-"

"Someone saw you, you dolt," the man said gruffly. "If you're going to fake your own death, do it right."

Javert couldn't help but smile slightly at this, but it faded before it got much past simply turning the corners up. "I suppose you two have met," he said stiffly, motioning between the newcomer and Valjean.

"It would seem that you have family 'in a way,' Javert?" Valjean asked with a knowing look in his twinkling eyes. "Yes, we've been well met now. The man that raised you, isn't he? Former Prefect of Police Oliver DeLancy."

Javert frowned at the knowledge, his tired mind working to figure out if Valjean had known it before DeLancy had come, or if DeLancy himself had told. It didn't matter, he decided at last. The fact was that he knew a bit of his history and that disturbed the smaller man greatly.

"Might I ask," DeLancy drawled, his keen eyes focused on Javert, "why you might have found it necessary to fake your own death?"

How does one tell the man that raised you that you were most certainly not trying to _fake_ your own death, you simply botched the job of really doing it? Not easily, or perhaps not at all. "I had reasons."

"You have reasons for all you do, that I know."

Valjean watched the two men and almost smiled. When DeLancy had come to his door the man had an air about him that he knew himself to be intimidating. The ex con had welcomed him into his home with a smile and a small bow. He'd barely begun his story when Javert had come into the room. Only that'd he'd heard on the streets that Inspector Javert had 'died' on Thursday, July 5 and had been seen only briefly, frightening people with his near-ghost appearance. Valjean couldn't help chuckling at that.

"Bridget's been in hysterics since midday Friday," DeLancy continued. "My wife," he murmured the explanation for Valjean's benefit.

"I'll be around there to see her when I'm allowed out," Javert growled, glaring irritably at Valjean. "I seem to have been made a hostage."

"Twice in five days time is a feat even for you," Valjean responded. "Though I do not hold you here as a hostage."

"Then I'll leave."

"If you go with Monsieur DeLancy, I have no quarrel with it."

Javert closed his eyes, forcing a deep, supposedly calming breath. He would not stay here another moment if he had the chance, but he also did not want to return to his adoptive family's home. Wouldn't the best choice to be to simply walk out? And to what end?

"Javert?"

Javert's blue eyes flickered upward towards DeLancy, then towards Valjean. "I'll do what you want, whichever that maybe" he grunted. "If for the reason that I am still in your debt and I refuse to live that way."

Valjean's lips turned into a slight frown. "I never-" The glare shut him up.

"Some tea then?" DeLancy asked, breaking the silence.

Valjean nodded and ushered the other men to the living room. As he moved to the kitchen, he realized just what an odd situation this truly was and how little he knew of it. He would find out, he was sure. With that thought in mind, he continued on into the other room.

------

"I didn't think we'd do it."

Combeferre looked over sleepily. He'd coaxed Enjolras to take a seat on the rickety porch outside the house, and he'd promptly realized how tired he himself was. He'd spent the last three days focusing on his patients with little thought for himself. Who could with Enjolras in his care? "Didn't think we'd do what?" he asked around a yawn.

"Win."

"So you went into it wanting to die?" Combeferre asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No… Just ready, if need be."

"And what good would that have done? You're much better to help them while alive."

"Others would have risen."

"Now they don't need to. No more blood needs to be shed."

"Have you heard… how it is out there?" Enjolras eyes were gazing off towards Paris.

"In Paris? Uproar. That's why the king wishes to speak to you now, I'd suspect."

"I didn't hope for any more time, to be honest. I thought he'd want to speak the day after it happened."

"You were unconscious."

"It would have made for a very dull conversation," the blond said with a small smile.

Combeferre rolled his eyes and plucked his glasses from his nose, attempting to clean them with his soiled shirt. "You, my friend, have lost part of your mind in all this. I certainly don't remembering you being so obsessive when we were younger. What changed it?"

"You make it sound terrible."

"I agree, obviously. I was there with you."

A smile perked Enjolras' lips. "Yes you were." He tilted his head so it rested on the post next to him. "What changed it?" he echoed. "Coming to Paris. Seeing the people. I couldn't imagine doing anything but helping them… It was the only way I knew how."

Combeferre nodded. "I take it back," he said quietly. "You were always a bit like this. I remember that one summer that you threw a fit because your father struck the maid."

"She didn't deserve it," Enjolras answered quickly.

"Oh I know. And your father probably did too, but I saw the anger in your eyes that day."

"We were young, weren't we?"

"We were."

"And innocent." Enjolras looked at his old friend with sad eyes. "We did what was right, didn't we, Combeferre?"

The young medical student blinked, the question waking him up more than a bucket of water would have. Was Enjolras, the man who was sure of everything, asking if they were right in what they did? If he didn't know, then who would? Enjolras was their center, their stability through it all. They would never have come this far -would they have even started? - without him. How could he say such a thing? And if he didn't know...

"Combeferre?"

"I hope so," was all the shorter man could say.

Enjolras nodded and leaned against the railing again, his blue eyes gazing longingly toward Paris. If Combeferre hadn't known better, he would have thought that he saw tears gathering in his friend's eyes.

------

A/N: There's an artist I like on (go look at cillabub's work!) and not only does she do wonderful Les Amis artwork, but also French Revolution in general. To be honest, the French Revolution is something I've never stuck my nose into very much, but that's about to change. Aww… I love the library being within walking distance. They had to give me a bag b/c I couldn't fit all my Saint-Just and Robespierre books into my book bag. Very sad. Aw well, but I'll be quite entertained for a bit. If anyone knows of some good French Revolution lit., let me know.

------

Melissa Brandybuck: Everything will be alright… by the end. It'll get worse before that though, don't worry!

Tay-kun: Haha, no offense taken. I like Bouvet. He's not as sympathetic as you might think… not that I'm saying anything. That'd spoil everything. Oh, and by the way, your profile is awesome. Just thought I'd let you know.

Precious Angel: I hope this was quick enough. I've been debating on whether or not I liked the whole Javert snippet, but I couldn't think of any other way to do it within a reasonable amount of time, so there it is… That's very true. I'm pretty set on my writing degree by now, I just have to go through changing it and possibly go pre-law and hope to get out of here in four years for undergrad. Lol! Glad you like it so far!


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: Turning

* * *

**

"The revolutionaries have a hearing?" Javert managed over his tea the next morning.

"Not a 'hearing,' per say," DeLancy answered with a wave of his hand. "Technically the white flag was raised on our side, but you know how that goes."

"You know something then?" Valjean asked quietly, thinking of the young man lying in the other room. They were his friends, those boys that were risking everything.

"I know more than most," DeLancy admitted with a shrug. "But I'm not at liberty to say anything."

"They won't even give him a trial," Javert murmured.

"Who won't?" a voice asked from the door and everyone turned to see Marius Pontmercy standing with his arm pulled close to him in a make-shift sling and his eyes staring intently at the three men.

Valjean pursed his lips together. "Marius, you should not be out of bed."

"Forgive me, Monsieur, but now that I am… Are you speaking of Enjolras?"

DeLancy's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Do you know him, young sir?"

"I do."

"Then I cannot-"

"I swear he shall not leave this house," Valjean said quietly. "If he wishes to know, he should. He will not interfere. Your job will not be at stake, nor their… plan." His voice gave away his disapproval of what he could put together as the students' fates, but his word stood out for the other man to take or to dismiss.

DeLancy looked at him oddly for a moment and nodded, a smile slipping to his lips. "House arrest won't be necessary, Monsieur. The government has sent a man in to infiltrate. He's posing as a National Guard sent to help. He's to get their trust, save them as best he can until he can deliver Monsieur Enjolras to his fate at the guillotine."

"But they raised the flag…" Marius whispered. "A white flag! The flag was raised, how can they…?"

"They can and they will," DeLancy said sharply. "Perhaps your friends will be bright enough to be slow to trust their new friend."

"Why tell me, Monsieur? At such a risk… Surely you know…"

"Indeed I do, Monsieur Pontmercy. Your grandfather would be much displeased, but there is always hope for those that are marked by death, isn't there? Always hope for a new freedom?"

Marius' eyes widened at the words and his fists clenched in determination. "Of course."

"It won't be easy, mind you. It is Alexis Enjolras' father who is masterminding the whole plan."

"Enjolras' father?"

"Mhmm. Now, Monsieur Pontmercy, you really should get yourself back to bed. You're looking rather pale. I hear that there's a lovely lady that's been waiting on since you came. I'm sure she'll get very worried… I wouldn't mention your plans to anyone, though. Make them your own."

"Yes sir."

Valjean watched Marius leave the room, slowly but with returning strength. Javert, he saw, had watched the entire episode with wide, unbelieving eyes. Perhaps the man that raised him was very different, the ex con realized for certain what he'd been pondering on since the night before when he'd come. How on earth did Javert turn out the way he did, then?

-------

"Paris?" Bouvet echoed. "Why on earth…?"

"I expect to be at the court first thing Wednesday morning," Enjolras explained simply as he pulled his coat around his body, gritting his teeth in pain. He shook off Combeferre's helping hand. "I'm alright."

"You keep saying that."

"And I will keep meaning that."

"We took you out of Paris for a reason," Bouvet cut in, a frown on his sharp features. "You should go in tomorrow morning."

"Not on your agenda, Bouvet?" Courfeyrac asked with an accusing look in his eyes. "Perhaps we're supposed to go in tomorrow for something?"

"I'm about done with your accusations, de Courfeyrac," Bouvet growled, receiving a satisfying glare at the title attached to his name.

"Perhaps when you begin acting as if you don't deserve them," the other growled in response, but Joly put a hand to his shoulder, quieting him.

"Now's not the time, Courfeyrac."

Courfeyrac looked at Enjolras desperately, as if expecting their leader to give him the go-ahead to throw Bouvet out of their presence. They could, in the young man's mind, simply because it was the National Guards who had raised the white flag. To his slight irritation Enjolras shook his head that he was to leave Bouvet alone.

The trip to Paris was not long, as they were on the outskirts, but it was troublesome. Grantaire, as predicted, had thrown a fit when he found out that the king had demanded an audience with Enjolras just days after he'd been so badly wounded. He ranted and raved about it as his blond Apollo sat and let him. It seemed that even Enjolras had managed to break through his pride and resentfulness towards the drunk to allow a little patience for him since the barricades.

Combeferre, Joly, and Grantaire companied Enjolras and Bouvet in one carriage until it pulled up to a building. Bouvet scrunched his long, thin nose as he looked out. "What is this?"

"My rooms," Enjolras answered, waiting for Combeferre to pile out of the carriage first.

"And where am I to stay?"

"Wherever you please."

"You're testing me, aren't you?"

Enjolras leaned forward slight, his sharp blue eyes meeting Bouvet's dark ones with fiery intensity. "Were you told to keep me under surveillance?"

"Of course not."

"I'm not that naïve." Enjolras straightened his shoulders and stepped out of the carriage and into the sunlight, Combeferre by his side. They watched the carriage pull away and Grantaire smirked.

"Don't look so cocky," Combeferre chided. "We're not rid of him yet."

"But we will be," the drunk responded with a grin.

Enjolras said nothing as he walked into the house.

------------------

Bouvet frowned as the carriage continued to carry him towards the palace. Things were not going as planned and he knew who would take the blame for it. Not that he wanted to, of course. He would have much rather had a nice, stable job to fulfill on the sidelines of this whole ordeal, but alas, he'd been noticed by the man pulling the strings.

He reached on hand up to hit the top of the carriage, signaling for the driver to stop. He did not smile when the driver did and did not wait for his change. In his mind he ran over anything he could use. "It was sprung on me," he would say. "It won't set your plans back any, will it?" Was that the best he could come up with? "You _told _me to keep their trust. I couldn't do it without letting them go…."

"Making excuses already?"

Bouvet spun around, eyes wide and meeting the cold, steel blue ones of the greying man before him. "My lord!"

The man before him let a frighteningly chilled smile cross his thin lips. "Monsieur Bouvet. What could you possibly be doing here? Surely you could have sent someone unless it was urgent."

"I… He's here. In Paris."

"So I've been informed," the tall man said, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "Though I would have rather heard it from you first."

"Exactly what I was here for, sir."

"Too late, I see."

Bouvet frowned very slightly. Did this man want him to come and leave his charge earlier than need be or did he want the news immediately? Both, of course. And all from him.

"Though that is in the past," the man before him said wit a dismissive wave of his hand. "As of now our plans are moving forward and he will hide himself and his friends away in his rooms. I made certain they were held in case he did return." Two steely eyes narrowed. "I expect you to keep your eyes – both of them – on him from now on unless you are reporting back to me."

"That may be suspicious, sir."

"Then follow at a distance. Have someone else do it. Something. I want to know his whereabouts at all times."

"Yes sir."

-------------------

"I don't like it."

"He's a grown man. He can decide for himself what he wants to do."

Combeferre glared at Courfeyrac. "As his doctor-"

"As his doctor you must still give him enough of a chance to stretch his legs."

"It's been five days!" Combeferre hissed.

Courfeyrac sighed heavily. "And he was badly wounded, yes I know, but he's Enjolras. If he were acting any different we'd know something was seriously wrong. Anyway, if you tried to stop him, he'd just climb out the window or something, then you know he'd hurt himself worse. This way he has Joly and Grantaire with him, as little good as that may do, and he can still go out. He would have found a way to those people and you know it."

"Yes, I know, but I still don't like it."

"Combeferre!"

Both men turned to the door where Gavroche was slamming it open. "There's a riot in the streets!" the boy gasped.

"Where at?" Combeferre demanded.

"Down the ways a bit near the café! Enjolras was there!"

Combeferre and Courfeyrac took one long look at each other before sprinting out of the flat without a word between them. Gavroche huffed a frustrated sigh as he chased after them, determined not to be left out of the excitement.

------

Tay-kun: Well… now I always manage to give different slash fans fuel for the fire and I never really mean to. Ah well. Glean from it what you wish, I suppose. There will be no slash. Sorry. Ah yes, Javert's family. I like his dad. You'll see more of him later on. I'm about half-way working on a side story for Javert's childhood and how he came to be apart of the DeLancy household. Very promising idea in my little box of tricks….

AmZ: Nope. DeLancy is actually only about ten years older than Javert. Javert showed up at their house when he was thirteen and DeLancy and his wife were very young, around 23-24ish. I've already thought it all through and as I told Tay-kun, I have a story in the works for his childhood that will explain a ton about the DeLancy family and such.

Caligirl-HPLVR: Thanks very much. Quite a compliment! I'm honoured!

Melissa Brandybuck: It always gets worse in my stories. :evil grin: makes 'em fun.

Precious Angel: As far as I know Javert's parents aren't mentioned in the book except for the bit on him being of gypsy heritage and that he would have taken his own mother in for breaking her parole. I took quite a bit of creative liberty with it. Good! I'm glad you don't know what to make of Bouvet. That's his purpose… for now. Thanks very much!

Mizamour: Thanks very much. I'm just thrilled that I have my nice little outline of the days and how long it's been since the barricades… I was confusing myself until I got that :is happy this is the one things she's organized with:

Thanks all

TBC

TS


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: Riot in the Streets

* * *

**

A/N: Wow! Such quick reviews! I've been dying to write this chapter since… well since I started the fic. It was one of the main ideas I had for it, so hopefully it'll come out on paper as well as it was running about in my head!

-------

The people had swarmed faster than any of the students realized they could. Joly's eyes went wide and Enjolras could see him shrinking away out of the corner of his eye. Grantaire, on his other side, tensed. "Where'd they all come from?"

"I think the question should be, 'what are they after?'" Enjolras murmured as he started toward the thick of the crowd.

"Are you insane?" Joly managed, taking hold of his leader's arm and trying to drag the taller man back. "Combeferre's going to kill us all when he hears about this."

"Let go of me, Joly. I have to see what's going on."

"It doesn't concern us, Enjolras," Grantaire said quietly. "Let's go."

Brilliant blue eyes flashed as the blond man spun out of Joly's grasp and glared at Grantaire. "You! And I thought you'd changed! Have you learned nothing from all of this?" he demanded, his hand sweeping out towards the crowd of rioting people.

"I've learned you care nothing for your own life even though this Republic you love so much is in your hands," Grantaire bit back. "If you die, it dies with you!"

"These people _are_ the Republic!"

"And they're too stupid to care right now! Leave them be!"

Enjolras was shaking by this point, though neither of his companions could tell if it was from anger or exhaustion. He turned abruptly and started into the crowd. Joly and Grantaire followed at his heals. They weaved through the crowds and finally made their way so that they could see.

The crowd had brought out an old scaffold – someone had been planning this – that looked as if one stood on it that it might collapse. On it was a rusted looking guillotine that would have taken several tries to take a head off and Joly shuddered at the sight of it. The words rang in each of their minds. _Reign of Terror._ It was coming again and they were there to witness it.

A man was ushered up to the scaffold and Enjolras recognized him immediately. He wasn't sure of his name, but he could never mistake the man that'd looked him in the eye and shot him at point blank range. Those eyes that had been so full of youthful pride then were panicked at the site of a rusted guillotine before him now. He was struggling against his captors and yelling out for someone, anyone to help.

"It's him," Grantaire breathed, his lips pulling into a full frown. "Let 'em lob it off."

Enjolras ignored him as he started to push his way forward. "Let me through! Confound it all, let me through!" He made his way to the very front. "Stop!" he yelled, his voice rising above the others in an authoritative manner.

One of the rioters at the base of the scaffold looked at him, eyebrow raised. "You'd rather it be you, monsieur?" he growled out.

Enjolras all but fell forward, pushed by the crowds that had taken to him now, eyes glowing with a lust for blood he'd never seen in his young years. He gasped slightly, pain spreading across his torso, but he pushed it back. "Why this man?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Don't you see the uniform, you fool?"

"I see a boy no older than myself," Enjolras shot back. "Let him go."

"And who are you to tell us what to do?"

"Alexis Enjolras," the blond answered with his head held high. "I was one of the ones who fought for you on the barricades."

A silence fell over the crowd, but the man before him sneered. "You may have been on the barricade, boy, but I know your name and your legacy."

At this, Enjolras stiffened. "My father disowned me long ago."

"A likely story!" He grinned maliciously as more murmurs rose. "Alexis Enjolras… son of the man that all but rules this country, doesn't he? He's been pulling the strings from the background for years. Good ol' king sits on his thrown with his smile and his good ways, but the suffering comes from the Enjolras family."

"I fight against my father."

"Do you now?" the man growled. "I say we've got ourselves a guillotine for two today!"

The crowd's cheers rose loudly, causing Enjolras to wince at the sound. He glared pointedly at Grantaire and Joly, warning them against coming to his rescue. He'd gotten himself out of plenty of messes before, he could do it again.

They shoved Enjolras up the rickety steps and he tripped on the last one, falling against the splintered wood. He forced himself up, frustration written in his blue eyes. "Circumstances are difficult only for those who shrink at the thought of death," he murmured through gasping breaths.

"Enjolras!"

His eyes met those of Combeferre. The smaller man looked as if he might be in a panic down below, working wildly against the crowd that was against him. His normally calm features were lined in frustration and worry as he called his friend's name again. The blond noticed that Grantaire was with him, Joly and Courfeyrac coming from a different angle. "Bunch of fools," he murmured.

"They'd follow you to the death."

Enjolras turned, looking at the National Guard. He really was very little more than a boy.

"I saw them," he continued, "in the café… on the barricade. They'd have died for you… It's because you're a good man, isn't it? You really want what's best for these people, don't you?"

"Shut up now!" the leader of the riot called and hauled the National Guard over to the guillotine where men were fitting a new blade on it. They fit his head in the slot.

Nothing was going as planned. Everything was spiraling into chaos and he couldn't let it happen. He was their leader. He was their savior. He was Apollo, damn it all and he would not let control slip from his grasp."You must stop this madness!" Enjolras screamed. "This cannot be another Reign of Terror!"

There was a silence that fell over the crowd as a yelp was heard and the whistle of the blade falling. Enjolras had been struggling widely against his captors, eyes wide and he was screaming for it all to stop. As the boy's head rolled and a bit of his blood splattered on the blond's face, he fell silent. It was all a brief moment in time, but if felt like an eternity as Enjolras fell to his knees, eyes wide and unseeing of anything except of the blood. In his own mind it was gushing, flowing like a waterfall from the severed neck and pooling like a body of water. But it wasn't water, it was blood. All of the blood… Was it all from one man? Was it because of him? He couldn't regain the control, but had he ever had it?

"You're next," his captor growled as he hauled him up. Enjolras offered no protest.

"Stop this! Don't you know who he is?" Grantaire demanded.

"The son of-"

"No! He organized the revolution here! One of the leaders! It's because of Enjolras that you live as a free man! Don't you see that? He was wounded on that barricade. That man-" he pointed at the dead National Guard – "stabbed and shot him. He was willing to die for the likes of you!"

"I saw him," one voice piped up out of the crowd. "I saw him on the barricade. With a red flag!"

"I saw him too!" Cries such as this rang through the crowd for a moment before the man holding Enjolras raised a hand to silence them.

"You'd have him?"

"How do you suspect that the king will listen if not to the man that he surrendered to?" Courfeyrac demanded.

The man all but threw Enjolras, sending the young man stumbling from the scaffold and straight into Grantaire's arms. The drunkard caught his Apollo before he fell and eased him down. "Enjolras?"

Les Amis gathered around him, Combeferre taking charge. "Let's get him home," he murmured.

-------------------

He'd been walking through the streets when he heard the riot a block away. Bouvet had sprinted the whole way there, something in his gut telling him that his charge was there. He'd reached the edge of the crowd to see the young National Guard being shoved into place at the guillotine and the blade falling. He recognized Enjolras screaming for the madness to stop. The sound of the blade falling was deafening in the sudden silence and Bouvet felt his heart stop.

Everything froze in place as the boy's head rolled and Enjolras' screams were silenced. The look on his face took all of Bouvet's attention. Those blue eyes were wide and full of emotion for the briefest of moments before he was hauled up and started for the guillotine.

Bouvet was sure he heard the drunkard say something before the madman on the scaffold tossed the revolutionary off of it. He made his way to the scene quickly. "What's happened?"

Combeferre looked up. "Are you blind?"

"I can see, but why…" He couldn't finish. He wasn't sure how or even what he was asking. The blond man before him was in shock, he was sure, with his eyes staring blankly ahead and any movement was only because one of his friends had caused it. "Get him up."

"We're done taking your orders," Courfeyrac growled out, his eyes blazing. "You have no rights here, Bouvet. Stay out of it."

"I'll be your escort back to the flat," the National Guard said simply.

"And of this?" Joly mumbled, motioning to the crowd.

"They're just blind followers. It's him that the government will want," he said, motioning up towards the stage. "And we'll have him, but until then, come on."

------

"Has he said anything?"

Combeferre scowled at the National Guard. Truth be told, he'd sat up all night with the wounded revolutionary and the blond had not said a word. He had not even slept. Rather he had laid with his eyes staring blankly towards the ceiling, pale fists clenching and unclenching at his sides for a while before relaxing against the sheets of his bed. Truth be told, Combeferre was frightened.

"If he doesn't respond, he won't have his conference," Bouvet said slowly, non of his usual cockiness lacing his voice.

"I _know _that," Combeferre hissed. "But what can I do of it?"

Bouvet sighed heavily and sank into a chair. There was little they could do, he admitted to himself silently. The boy had been non-responsive since they'd brought him back to the flat. He'd simply allowed himself to be lead along the road, up the stairs, and into bed. Combeferre had treated his wounds and tucked the sheets in around him, lowering the lamp light so that it barely burned. "Grantaire is with him?"

"Little good it'll do. He needs rest as well… What _have_ we gotten ourselves into?"

The National Guard was sure he wasn't supposed to have heard the last part and it had merely slipped from the young doctor's lips. He ignored it and stood, walking very quietly to Enjolras' room.

Grantaire was bent over him, a damp rag on his forehead. Apparently a fever had sprung in the night and the blond seemed to do little to fight it off.

"How is he?"

The drunkard spun in his chair, eyes wide. "You."

"I asked a question."

"And I refuse to answer. Get out of Enjolras' home."

"Only if he orders me out," Bouvet counted. "And that doesn't look probable."

"Shut up!" Grantaire yelled. "And get out! Just get out!"

Bouvet nodded stiffly, a frown on his lips. "Very well," he murmured as he did just as he was asked.

Grantaire turned back to Enjolras with tears standing in his eyes. "C'mon, Apollo," he whispered. "You have to wake up for me. Not just for me, you know. The whole Republic's in your hands, remember. If not for me, if not for your friends, then for the Republic. For the people, Enjolras."

He waited. It seemed like an eternity before he let his breath out and let his shoulders slump. It was then that he felt a weak hand grasping at his own and he opened his eyes. Enjolras was looking back at him, tears falling silently down his own pale face, matching the drunkard's. Grantaire grasped his leader's hand and held it to him, falling to his knees by the bed.

"They killed him," Enjolras rasped.

It took Grantaire a moment to process the words and then he nodded silently.

"I couldn't…" Enjolras' grasp became stronger and he sniffed, a sob choking him. "I couldn't… do anything, Grantaire. Not one blasted thing…. That man died… He _died _because of me!"

"Not because of you, Enjolras."

"But it was," the other sniffed. "It was my fault."

Grantaire moved himself so he was sitting on the bed next to the blond, one hand on his friend's slender shoulder. "You couldn't have done anything," he said firmly. "Not a thing, do you hear me? That man, the one that killed the National Guard, he was out of his mind."

"But… I've killed so many. It's been a bloodbath, Grantaire, you saw it."

"And it'll get better, but you have to stay with it. Without you, the Republic will never come into being."

"But-"

"No. You lived for a reason. Even if you could not save that one man you can save more. Many more, but you have to stay with it."

There was a passion in Grantaire's voice that Enjolras had heard more and more since the barricades and it brought fresh tears to his eyes. He shuddered once before letting out a sob and feeling Grantaire put an arm around him, steadying him. He collapsed into his friend, weeping freely. The drunkard sat there, awkwardly holding his idol, and watched the statue melt into a man.

------

A/N:deep breath: emotionally straining chapter… Have you ever felt that? When you work up to something and feel the character's deepest emotions. Poor Enjolras… I suppose in a way one of the purposes of this story is to make the statue into a man, in a way. Have I done well in that?

Sorry for no Javert and Valjean fun in this one! No Marius even… very sad…

------

Tay-kun: That's so good to hear, that this isn't a typical survival fic. Anna-chan and I toyed with the idea in an earlier fic, but I do like this idea better. We were dabbling in it, really…. This is much more thought out, in my opinion. At least on my part. Yeah… Slash isn't something I write. I typically have very, very close friendships that people will mistake or slash, but I never mean for it to be so. Ah well… people see what they wish to see and that's the wonders of writings:)

AmZ: Haha! Remind me to come to you if I need any detail about Javert. Thank you very much for that:does her best to store that in her memory: And as always, thanks for reading and input!

Melissa Brandybuck: I have a thing about parents. I love putting parents into fics. They're either really, really good or really, really bad. M. Enjolras is just downright evil. I despise him, but love his character, if that makes any since? I love him as a villain b/c he's just so terrible. He'll get worse, believe you me. Oops… bad riot!

Nothingtoulouse: Wow… I'm so used to being on that end of the fanfiction. The "please have updated! Please have updated!" end… It's weird being on this end… Thanks so much! That's one of the biggest compliments you could give me!

Precious Angel: Yeah, good 'ol dad, right:shudders: You'll see about Marius… next chapter? I think it might be next chapter, we'll see. Wow! Everyone says they're addicted to my story! That makes me so happy:feeds people's addiction: Hehe…

Thanks all!

TS


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten: A Plot Unfolds

* * *

**

Morning dawned two hours later, finding Grantaire sitting against the headboard of the blond's bed, Enjolras curled up next to him. The sun's rays made the drunkard blink several times before shifting. "Enjolras?"

The revolutionary leader groaned and curled up tighter, doing his best to ignore the taller man.

"Enjolras? You'll have to get up… You have to meet-"

The blond man shot up, blue eyes wide as if just coming from a nightmare. He looked around widely before coming to a dead stop and his entire body going rigid. "Grantaire."

The drunkard couldn't find a way to respond. It hadn't been a question, he was sure, but he wasn't sure that he was supposed to respond to it either. Those blue eyes – still slightly puffy from exhaustion and tears – were back to their icy state, staring coldly at him and he was anything but the weeping child he'd been a couple of hours before. Apollo sat before him once more.

Grantaire realized he was staring dumbly as Enjolras untangled himself from the blanket that had been draped across his shoulders and stumbled to his feet, his arm held loosely around his midsection, a pained expression on his fair features. The dark haired man watched him move from the room without a word. His actions had said everything that his words had not: Never say anything about it. It never happened. Enjolras is and always will be a statue for the Republic.

-----------------

"Take a look at that!" Gavroche gawked as they came closer to the palace. "I never seen anythin' like it!"

Enjolras glanced out of the corner of his eye at the boy, a smile perking his lips. He'd allowed the child to tag along with them that morning with the excuse that he could represent the youth of the streets at the meeting. He had no real excuse for Grantaire's presence at his left shoulder.

"I suppose I've never seen it quite so close," Combeferre murmured from Enjolras' right.

The revolutionary leader grunted his response and moved past the guards, each of them nodding their greeting to him. He frowned at the recognition he was receiving and finally stepped up to the door where one guard held his gun to him. "What's your business?" he asked, eyebrow raised at the odd party.

Enjolras supposed they did look odd. Combeferre looked exhausted, his spectacles halfway slipped down his nose and his hair, while pulled back, looked as if it had just barely been tamed. He still had a nasty gash that was just now healing that stretched from the top of his right cheekbone to the edge of his mouth. Grantaire looked as unkempt as he always did with his hair only loosely pulled back and face not fully shaved and yet no real beard upon it. Then there was Gavroche who was an oddity amongst his elder companions. Lastly there was Enjolras himself: thinner than usual, paler than usual, and generally sickly looking, but there he stood with a defiant look in his crystal eyes. "To meet with the king."

"Oh," the guard sneered. "The revolutionaries. Did you enlist children as well?"

"Open the door."

"Win one small battle and you own the whole palace now, do you?"

Enjolras fixed his glare on the man. "We have precious little time to discus things. In case you haven't been out: the streets are in chaos. We need to speak with-"

"Alright!" the guard boomed, letting a frustrated grunt escape and he stepped aside.

Enjolras pushed the doors open to find, not the king as he had expected, but a man he very much knew. His eyes narrowed. "We came to speak to the king."

Bouvet, who had been speaking with the tall, grey-blond haired man, stepped aside, bowing slightly and looking upset over their previous conversation. The man stepped forward, a condescending smile on his lips and he stretched out his arms in a welcoming motion. "Alexis."

Grantaire and Gavroche exchanged glances and noticed that Combeferre had the same glare plastered on his face as Enjolras did.

"Father," Enjolras hissed. "We came to speak to the king."

"His Majesty has more important things to do than meet with the likes of you," M. Enjolras said, his voice holding no different of a tone than if he had been speaking of the weather.

"His Majesty," his son growled out through gritted teeth, "should have thought better than to order us there if that is the case."

"His Majesty did not." There was a shrug of his slim shoulders. "I did."

"Excuse a man's stupidity," Grantaire grumbled, "but who the hell are you and where do you get off bringing us here like this?"

"He's Nicolas Enjolras," Combeferre said in a tight voice. "Enjolras' father by birth and a perfect royal pain in any situation by action. Haven't you done enough?"

"Hello to you too, Etienne," Nicolas Enjolras greeted him. "You've become more vocal. Should I blame Alexis for that? He always had a way of bringing out the worst in people. Look at what happened yesterday, hmm? I hear that that boy was beheaded and you were right there, Alexis. Did nothing to stop your people?"

"Enjolras did all he could," Bouvet – who had been all but forgotten by every other person present - said quietly and almost timidly from his place.

"He did, did he? Obviously not enough, and I'd say that if you weren't even able to handle a small crowd, Alexis…"

"You're highly ranked, Father, but I'm not fool enough to think that you have the power to do much other than whisper into the king's ear."

"I've been promoted and put in charge of all of this. You will be dealing with me."

Combeferre groaned. "Joy."

"You would do well, Monsieur Combeferre, to remember this is no longer the small, country setting in which you were accustomed to meeting me in before. This place has structure, unlike what you people deal with."

The young med student glared, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a huff. This would not do well at all.

"So," Nicolas Enjolras said pleasantly, "shall we begin our talks?"

----------------

"That was the most boring thing _ever_," Gavroche complained.

"Then don't come next time," Grantaire growled irritably. He cuffed the boy lightly across the back of the head and turned his attention back to Enjolras. The smaller student had spent most of the meeting with his fist clench and growing paler and paler, beads of sweat now visible on his ashen face. The drunkard had been watching him carefully since they'd left and caught him twice as he stumbled. "Enjolras?"

"I'm alright," came the expected reply.

"You don't look it."

Enjolras flashed a quick, unexpected smile. "I'm tired, Grantaire, as I highly suspect you are."

He was tired, Grantaire realized suddenly, but he'd be the last to admit it. "I'm doing good enough," he grumbled.

"The both of you need more rest than you've had," Combeferre complained as he turned the key in the lock. The door swung open and Marius all but pounced on them.

"You! What took you all so long!"

The med student blinked in surprise. "Another one that doesn't know the meaning of bed rest!" he muttered, tone exasperated. He pushed past Marius and fell onto the pallet he'd made for himself on the floor, curling up and looking perfectly miserable.

Marius looked back at the other who were still coming inside. "What happened to him…?"

"No one listens to him," Grantaire answered with a grin. "How you been?"

"Better, much better," the dark haired youth said with a smile. "But, Enjolras, just the man I've been waiting for! I have news to tell you, had to sneak out of Monsieur's house to get here… Quite a feat with an arm in a sling, but… Are you alright?"

Enjolras was leaning heavily against the doorframe and he barely nodded, moving in a couple of feet before collapsing to his knees. Combeferre was off his pallet in an instant and Grantaire was at his other side. Courfeyrac, Feuilly, and Joly moved in to form an outer circle around them with Marius too.

"I'm…"

"You're not 'all right,' do you hear me?" Combeferre growled, turning the blond over and tugging at his shirt. "Give me some room, will you?" he snapped at Grantaire. Long, skillful fingers moved his friend's vest aside and began to pull at the undershirt. Several of the stitches had pulled. "You are most certainly not all right."

Enjolras had relaxed slightly, head turned away from his medical friend and eyes closed. His breath was coming in slight gasps every time that Combeferre's hands brushed his torso.

"Joly, Courfeyrac, help me get him into the bed," Combeferre ordered quietly. He turned his eyes up to Marius. "Whatever you had to say will have to wait."

Marius nodded dumbly as three of his friends lifted the fourth and carried him into the next room.

-------

"Papa! He's gone, Papa!"

Jean Valjean looked up from his book, calm eyes locking with his daughter's frantic ones. "Who's gone, my dear?"

"Marius!"

Valjean smiled. "Oh yes… I'm not surprised."

"Then you know where he's gone?"

"I should hope not."

"Why not?"

"Then we would have to turn him over to Javert's father, and that's something that no one wants. Your Marius will be safe, Cosette. He's a bright boy with a loyal heart. Though not only to his friends. He'll come back to you."

The young woman flung herself into her father's arms, sobbing. "But why wouldn't he tell me, Papa?"

"Have some faith in him, Cosette," Valjean murmured as he stroked her hair and prayed silently that he was putting his own faith securely in the boy.

--------------

Enjolras struggled back to consciousness, his icy blue eyes fluttering open ever so slightly. He forced himself to focus on the voices. The first was Combeferre, he was sure, and was the second Marius?

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"I swear to it."

"I always knew he was up to no good," Combeferre grumbled, voice tight with hatred.

"Who?" Enjolras croaked as he forced himself to sit up.

"Later. When you're well. Enjolras, you must lie down!" the other said ugently.

"I won't be well for some time. Tell me now."

The young med student bit his lip, frustration written in his eyes. He pulled his glasses from his nose and turned away. "Bouvet is untrustworthy."

"Of course," Enjolras murmured, falling back to his pillow. "How is this news?"

"No, he's out against you," Marius argued. "Hired by your father."

"That's absurd. My father is an ambitious, evil man, but even he wouldn't be that foolish. He'd be making us into martyrs."

"Your father has always been a clever man," Combeferre murmured. "He could find a way to turn anything to his advantage. Even so far as taking France under his control."

"Now that _is _stretching it!" the blond huffed.

"Don't be blind, Enjolras," his friend snapped. "You of all people know the lengths your father will go to get what he wants and you can't deny that he would be willing to take the throne if it were given to him. Perhaps even work for it a bit."

Enjolras knit his eyebrows in thought, mind racing. His father… It was a stretch, but he might be able to see it. "We shall have to be wary. If this is all true then he'll be out for our blood soon."

------------------

Tay-kun: Wow thanks! I was really scared about that one! I've been wanting to write it for so long I was afraid it'd turn out terribly! Glad you liked it!

Melissa Bradybuck: Haha! Yay for Enjolras/Grantaire fluff without slash! Gotta love it… Thanks so much! Glad you liked the chapter!

Precious Angel: Beware, I'm fast at random times. Other times I'm too busy/have writer's block. Very sad….

Barricade Girl: Finding stories at 3 in the morning is always fun. Thanks so much for reading it and I'm glad you like it:feeds your addiction:

Caligirl-HPLVR: Yeah, poor guy… I debated back and forth on if to do it to him or to have him save the boy, but it needed to be done for the emotional level… And, of course, Nicolas Enjolras can and will use it to his advantage. Evil man that he is….

A Little Fall of Rain: I know, isn't Enjolras great:huggles: I've been studying St Just lately and I'm starting to think that Hugo took some of his traits for Enjolras, but just made him better. He's not QUITE as coldhearted as our lovely St Just…. Right? I certainly hope not….

NothingTouLouse: Wow! Glad it was so powerful! I was aiming for that!

Mizamour:blushes: Nah… I'm not that good. My stories write themselves. I'm just along for the ride like everyone else.

Tsunami Wave: Yup! Grantaire to save the day!


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven: A Clearer View Only Leads to More Questions

* * *

**

In many ways Alexis Enjolras appeared as his father did. Those hard, cold eyes could cut through to one's soul and there was a soldier's rigidness to their postures. It was even in the way that they held their heads high, chin up, and appeared to look down upon their subjects. This had been the first thing that Bouvet had seen when he'd met the younger Enjolras, even as wounded as he had been, and he'd resented it. He had judged the boy to be nothing more than an outwardly rebellious Nicolas Enjolras. The father gained power through his quiet treachery and the son gained in through open, violent rebellion against the king.

Bouvet had not been alive during Robespierre's Reign of Terror, but his elder brother and father had. Granted, his brother had been very young, but they had each heard of the horrors that Robespierre and Saint Just brought upon the people of France during the time before Napoleon. Bouvet had dreamt of it when he was young. At night he would wake screaming after being tormented by two men, both faceless monsters dripping in the blood of many, who wished to drag him away to the guillotine. Nothing had ever frightened him so in his life, and he had sworn to his delusional, dying father that he would never allow anything so dreadful to come about as long as he lived.

Now he had the chance to stop it from happening again and his convictions were wavering. _He's a terrible young man that will only grow more and more power hungry. He will be the next Saint Just._ The National Guard shuddered at the thought. No, he was not to that point yet. He thought he might be, at first, but he'd seen more at that horrible day at the guillotine as the head had rolled from the neck, blood splattering everywhere, and all Bouvet could think of was that horrible scream that had come from none other that Enjolras himself. A scream that would never have left Saint Just's lips. It was on that day when he began to question what he was doing.

_He will be the next Saint Just._

"No," Bouvet murmured, leaning against the alley wall. "Not the younger one."

As the young man looked up to the moon that was rising in the sky, then to the setting sun, he shoved himself from the wall, a new assurance in his steps. This had to stop. The Reign of Terror had been the death of innocents, and while these students might not be fully innocent in the whole affair, they were not guilty of wrongdoing. That decided, he chose his side once and for all.

----------

"Your revolutionary hasn't returned?"

Valjean looked up from his book to see Javert standing in the doorway, slightly disheveled for him, and with an irritated look on his face. "Marius? Is he gone?"

"Don't play a fool, Valjean," Javert growled. "You know very well what my father had planned."

"And you do not approve?"

"Of course not."

Valjean closed his book quietly, setting it aside and leaned forward with a thoughtful look about him. "I wonder," he began slowly, "how a man as devout in your ways as you are, Inspector, could have become that way."

Javert grew very red in the face, though Valjean had not the slightest idea why. He stood in his place for a moment, feeling his former nemesis' eyes watching him, and walked silently over to the window. His crystal eyes seemed fixated on some object or another through the glass and a sigh lifted his shoulders before letting them fall back into their rigid position. "I once said that there was nothing that we shared," the former inspector began quietly, not moving to look Valjean in the eye. "That… neither of us could change."

"You did say that, yes," Valjean murmured when the smaller man seemed to pause.

"I believe you know my history, Valjean. Gypsy parentage never was looked highly upon… I took to the streets when I was old enough to. You see what children do to survive on the streets." That one sentence was as close to the confession as anyone would ever receive, Valjean realized. Yes, certainly he did know what children did to survive. Theft was one of those things, as he had found out through his own life. Though he wished to say something, he bit his tongue, waiting for Javert to continue, and continue he did, though not without halts here and there in his monologue. "I was thirteen when Madame DeLancy found me snatching an apple from her tree. She was like you, speaking of mercy and God's love. I'd never heard anything so… preposterous," Javert spat. "It disgusted me and I left after our first visit, but returned." He turned, finally making eye contact with Valjean. "I went back to them and they took me in. I swore that I would never soiled their good name. I have never done so, and shall never."

"To spend one's entire life repenting for a sin committed in one's youth," Valjean murmured, eye lids fluttering heavily.

He heard Javert snort. "So we are not so different after all," the inspector growled out. "Go on, Valjean. Gloat. Let's hear it."

Their eyes met and Valjean smiled. "I have no place to gloat, nor do I wish to. We are all human." That said, he stood and took up his book. "We do what we can to follow the right path. It is all we can do."

"And that boy?"

"And your father."

"He's not-"

"He is the man that raised you. He is your father."

Javert sat in silence as he watched Valjean leave the room. His mind swam with all the words that had been spoken, and it continued to do so even as the sun set low in the sky.

-----

The knock on the door brought several people out of an almost peaceful sleep and sent about half scrambling for the door. Gavroche was the first to bound up, allowing Joly, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac to sink gratefully back to their places on the floor. The boy swung the door open and promptly slammed it again.

"Who was it?" Grantaire asked, leaning against the wall.

"That bastard Bouvet!" the gamin announced, a horrible look on his young face.

Courfeyrac was on his feet again, followed closely by Combeferre. He flung the door back open to find Bouvet was still there, looking about ready to knock again. "What are _you _doing here?" Courfeyrac growled.

"I need to speak to Enjolras. Is he well?"

"Have you cared in the past?" Combeferre asked lowly, glaring over his glasses. "What do you have to say?"

"I'd prefer it to be for his ears, though if you wish to listen you may."

"Oh we may!" Grantaire howled from behind. He waved a hand around theatrically, grinning lopsided. "We _may _listen in! Don't you feel honoured?"

"Oh very," Joly grumbled.

"Please, time could be very valuable in all of this," Bouvet murmured.

"To deliver him to the government as a sacrifice?" Combeferre asked quietly, a sharp note to his voice that none of the other students had ever heard before. It was cold, and eerily calm for as wild as his eyes had become. "To his _father_? I won't allow it."

"Then you know that Nicolas Enjolras is after his son?" Bouvet asked, dark eyes widening.

"And using you to do it!" Grantaire bellowed.

"No! Perhaps at one time, but I won't help him. I can't. You must let me in to see Enjolras. There are details that you don't know. Can't know, but I must tell them to you or you'll have no chance against his father. The man is a lunatic. He'll have the country if he can and he'll use all of you to take it from the king!"

"I've seen your type," Combeferre assured him. "Enjolras and I grew up with them. Those boys that would do anything to further themselves in any way. It starts young, but once it's instilled it never leaves. I suggest you leave this flat before it becomes the place you fall."

"But I must-"

Combeferre reached calmly into his jacket and pulled a pistol from it, aiming. "I said to leave, monsieur. I do not speak lightly."

"Combeferre, put that away." Everyone in the room looked to see Enjolras standing in the doorway leading from his bedroom. "I wish to hear what Monsieur Bouvet has to say."

-----------------

A/N: Wow, this has taken a long time to put together, and for that I am very sorry. I've been struggling through writer's block on this story, on everything, finals, exhaustion, and plenty of other excuses that I just can't think of right now. I have a new xanga site up just for my fanfiction, and on it I plan to post my art work for all of this. Possibly clips of stories too, I haven't decided. Anyway, our dear Enjolras was the first to make it up on there and I'd be much obliged if you'd take a looksee.www dot>xanga dot>com/Takada underscore>Saiko underscore>chan last chapter is what happens when I absolutely force a chapter to come. I do that from time to time to update, but regret it later. It never comes out right. But then again, if I don't do it every once and a while, people start to yell b/c of the lack of updates…. Anyway, hope this one was a little less scattered…

Tsunami Wave: Thanks so much! Sorry for the long wait…

Nothing Toulouse: I like throwing one liners in there that make people laugh. Makes my day to hear that it works :) And I finally updated for you! Look at this! I won't let it die completely. I love this story too much. I promise! It shall continue! There may be long, quiet periods where everyone thinks I've gone and tripped over the edge of a cliff or perhaps been eaten by some overly large animal, but I assure you this hasn't happened yet. Oh, and finals didn't kill me, so this is my celebration. Cheers.

Melissa Brandybuck: I've always pictured Enjolras' father as horrible, but he's reached a whole new low in my mind. Perhaps he shall sink further? Who knows?

Precious Angel: That's what I LOVE about Bouvet, you never really know which side he's on. Well, now you do, but who's to say he won't change his mind again?

Barricade girl: I'm glad to see that no one likes Nicolas Enjolras. My job here is going on the right direction to being completed.

Caligirl-HPLVR: Glad you like it! Hope that I didn't make everyone wait toooooooo long… : hides from angry reviewers :

SoloWolf: Yay! Another Enjolras fan! We seem to come out in high numbers…. I'm glad you like how I portray him. Gotta love the guy….

Kagii: Repetition is fine… as long as I know people are reading!

A/N: Oh, and ya'll, we've reached the hundred page mark:) Okay, that's with responses to reviews written in there, but still! It's so loooooong:happy:


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Well now, I live, frighteningly enough. I know I've been a bit behind (understatement) but I had the pleasure of seeing Les Mis on stage on Saturday and it has renewed my wish to write on this fandom. It was beautifully done with, surprisingly, tons of interesting moments between Enjolras and Grantaire. My best friend (known as Anna Maxwell on this site was with me and we o so enjoyed the 'could it be you're afraid to die' moment and the wine bottle salute. 'nuff said.

**Chapter Twelve: Plans to be formed**

The young men of Les Amis sat in the main room of Enjolras' flat, all looking quite anxious. Combeferre was eyeing his pistol that he'd pulled on the man that now sat alone with their leader in the second room. He couldn't believe that they'd agreed, after Marius' news, to allow the two privacy for this discussion. Enjolras had always been idealistic to a dangerous extent, Combeferre knew, but this trust in a man that never had deserved it might be his downfall.

"I'm going in there," Grantaire growled as he stood from his chair, swaying a bit as he did so.

"We promised we wouldn't," Joly murmured sadly.

"To hell with the promise," Courfeyrac responded sharply. "I haven't heard anything in there for five minutes."

"It's been ten by my watch," Marius noted as he pulled his pocket watch from his jacket, holding it before him in a thoughtful manner.

They all turned to Combeferre, as if waiting for his go ahead. The young student suddenly realized all eyes were locked on him and he let his hands drop, the gun resting against the chair. "I don't like it, but Enjolras would have called out if something had happened."

"Not if he were already unconscious," Courfeyrac countered.

Before Combeferre had time to answer the door to the room was opened. Bouvet stood behind Enjolras, dark eyes looking downward and following like one full of humility next to the great god. The revolutionary leader stepped forth, eyes locking with each of his men in turn, holding Grantaire's gaze in the end, a smile perking his lips. "I believe there was a moment in which you said that my father deserved a good slap, didn't you, Grantaire?"

The drunkard choked back a sudden laugh, mind flashing back to the one time that he'd gotten their leader a wee bit tipsy and the conversation had been brought up. It seemed like so long ago now. "I'm surprised your remember that, but yeah. Has the time finally come?"

"Nicolas Enjolras is trying to gain the throne through this," Bouvet said quietly. "His plan is to use all of you to take the king out of power and then call you for treason."

"The long of the short of it, it would seem, as Nicolas Enjolras always plans things down to the last detail," Combeferre murmured quietly. "How long has he been planning this?"

"Are you believing this man?" Courfeyrac gasped.

"Just a question, my friend."

"I can't say," Bouvet answered truthfully, "as he informs as few people of as little as possible. It's highly likely that I don't even know the entirety of the plan."

"It's quite likely that he knows details on every one of us," Enjolras said thoughtfully. "Each weakness, each strength. Tight bonds and ones only newly formed." He glanced up at Grantaire, their eyes briefly locking. Combeferre watched this in question, knowing there was a silent conversation taking place between the drunkard and the leader.

A silence fell over each of the revolutionaries until Courfeyrac broke it. "Then he must die." All eyes turned to their womanizing friend and he stood in his proclamation. "If he is to kill us all off, shouldn't we have at him first? Who knows if the king even knows that we won, if this is all some trick that Enjolras' father is pulling. To do away with him would be to secure everything we've fought for."

Enjolras went very pale at this idea and looked as if he might fall over. Combeferre put a steady hand on his arm and eased him down. "Perhaps this should be discussed-"

"At a later time?" Courfeyrac asked sarcastically. "When we're dead, then. Enjolras, you won't dally around, will you?"

"No," the revolutionary breathed. "We should not, but…"

"But it is still your father," Grantaire murmured softly, taking a seat on the floor next to his idol. Enjolras seemed to relax a bit with his presents, allowing his shoulders to droop and his eyelids to lull, showing the exhaustion he'd been struggling to keep at bay. He felt the drunkard's hand on his shoulder. "A day more won't hurt anything," Grantaire assured Courfeyrac, who seemed quite irritated by it.

"I agree," Combeferre piped up. "But, Enjolras, what shall you have us do with him?"

Enjolras looked upward at Bouvet. "You should return to my father as if nothing were wrong. Tell him…" He paused, thinking. His eyes closed for a moment and everyone thought perhaps he'd fallen asleep, but they opened once more, clearer this time with an idea. "Perhaps we should force him into action before he's ready. Everything is not in place, I'd assume?"

"No, not yet," Bouvet answered. "It… would be a problem for him if he were forced into something."

"He needs us to take down the king," Enjolras said with a small smile perking his lips and a thoughtful look in his eyes. "Tell my father that I've taken a serious turn for the worse and everything is falling apart. Combeferre has nearly cracked under the stress, Courfeyrac – I'm sorry old friend – has just about given up in frustration, and things are a general disaster on our end."

"All so quickly?"

"It could happen as quickly as things have been building as it is," Enjolras answered confidently. "He wouldn't know that Marius is here, but to be safe I'd say you should return to Monsieur Valjean, Marius."

"Certainly. If that is your wish."

Bouvet stood in thought a moment. "Very well. I hope this works, Enjolras, for your sake, as well as the Republic's." With that, he was out the door and off to his new duty, leaving Les Amis behind.

"Then I should be off," Marius murmured, pulling his coat to drape over his shoulders.

Courfeyrac looked discontented. "I don't trust him, Enjolras."

"Neither do I, fully, but we are in quite a tight spot with little to do about it," their leader answered softly. "Marius, we will stay in touch, don't worry. You'll be kept abreast of all the happenings. Do you have someone you can send back here to take a letter? Your girl, perhaps?"

"I shouldn't want to put Cosette in any danger," Marius answered.

"She wouldn't be as long as she could kept from being seen. We'll send Gavroche then." The boy lit up at this.

"Very well," Marius said as he tipped his head in adieu and left the flat.

-----------

It was evening by the time that Combeferre finally had Enjolras down in his bed and seemed to be settled in to rest. "You worry a bit too much," the blond said quietly.

"I worry not enough, or you'd be down more." He shook his head, smiling. "But then you would not be you, would you? Rest well. I think I'll have Grantaire in here on a pallet, if you don't mind."

"Not at all."

"You two get along much better now days."

"I suppose we do."

Combeferre stood looking at his old friend for a moment, watching him drift towards sleep. So very much had changed. "Sleep well," he murmured, stroking back the long blond hair and leaving him to it.

------

Nicolas Enjolras was not pleased. He paced the large room, steely eyes locked on the floor before him in deep thought. "If what you tell me is true, we have little time."

"You question the validity of my report?" Bouvet asked quietly.

"Yes," the elder man answered as he turned and locked eyes with the National Guard. "If what you say is true, then it must be done tonight."

"What would you have me do, my lord?"

"I would have you rot with them as a traitor," Nicolas hissed.

Bouvet's eyes went wide and the door was flung open. Several men rushed in, guns drawn and aimed at him. "I… don't understand, sir. I've been nothing but loyal to you."

"If what you have been is called loyalty, then it is nothing anymore. You are under arrest, Monsieur Bouvet, for treason against the king. Your plan was half-hatched, at best, and you will pay for it. Do you think I haven't kept an eye on you as well, boy?"

"This is your own son you wish to send to the guillotine."

"Alexis is no son of mine, and it is time that it become known. I've set up an heir to my fortune and mind you, boy, this new heir will be loyal to his king, whomever that may be. Alexis' plans will never work, his Republic will fall, and his little friends with him." Nicolas turned to one of the men that had entered. "Go to his rooms. I want them all alive."

"All, sir?"

"All. I have uses for each of them. Arrest them in the name of the king." He watched them men leave and turned to Bouvet, held by the last. "You all played into my hands, and Bouvet, you helped most of all. More even when you chose to betray me. Take him away."

"You won't win this! Enjolras' people that he has so much faith in will rise up against you! You're signing your own death and ensuring the Reign of Terror again!"

"You're as much a fool as Alexis!" Nicolas cried triumphantly, eyes alight. "It is that very fact that I'm counting on."

--------

A/N: I was talking to a friend of mine who is studying to be a nurse, and if anyone cares, it is physically possible to be doing to Enjolras what I've been doing. He would be running on pure adrinalin at his point and crashing harder and harder each time, but he could very well be alive even with those wounds. Just thought you might be interested. :P

Tsunami Wave: Well, I hope this chapter was worth the horribly long wait… sorry about that.

Precious Angel: Thanks muchly. I'm rather glad Bouvet's switched sides too.

Melissa Brandybuck: Sorry it took me so long. Finally here.

Kagii: Aww! Thanks! That's really sweet! And now half the year later…. The next chapter!

No account name: It's not stopped, don't you worry.

Lieyan: 'tis updated!

Silveni: I suppose I would have never compared Nicolas and Lucious… both blond and scary, but other than that…. It's probably the stark differences between their sons that keeps me from really making the connection, but this man is about that caliber. We may all hate him. More power to it.

NothingToulouse: Well, the monster called University spit me out for the summer only to be gobbled by the monster called work. But ah well, that's less than school. I'll have this nice long week right before school when I'll be sitting in my apartment and I can say 'hello there! Time to work on my Les Mis fic!' and hopefully I'll do it….

Enjolras Freak: Quite the poet, eh? Bravo on that, by the way. Oh, and please don't die, but bribing always works. More money for the poor writer.

Anna Maxwell: I can't help but hear 'Drink with Me' without cracking up now. I just can't… Gooey moment, yes indeed. So here's the next chapter, and I've got a mind for where it's going now. I'm contemplating on how to put in more Saint Just quotes/things having to do with the French Revolution…. Oh, and kudos to you if you can find a comment that I know you will. Good 'ol Grantaire. How we love our R.

TBC

TS


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen: Plans to be Shattered**

The night was still and quiet, several men asleep in one small flat, bedded in among the makeshift pallets that were scattered around the rooms. Gavroche had scooted his way out of the flat some hours before, leaving the elder men to their sleep as he prowled the night. His yes, though sharp as they were, missed the movement that seemed to be closing in around Les Amis.

The moon's beams were shining through the open window in Enjolras' bedroom, illuminating his face and making it difficult for the exhausted man to sleep. That, and the fact that everything seemed to be running at the utmost speed. How could he have though that once they won they would have had a nice coast downhill? It was the battle that was the hardest part, after all, wasn't it?

"Can't sleep, Apollo?"

Enjolras started at the voice in the darkness, turning to see a pair of dark brown eyes looking up at him from his pallet on the floor. Those eyes, normally bloodshot from too much drinking of various substances, were clear and sharp in the darkness, and they were locked onto their idol.

"No," Enjolras murmured truthfully.

"Me neither. Too much going on." The drunkard shifted, lying on his back and faced the ceiling. "You know, 'jolras, we've come so far now. A part of me always knew you would." He paused, thoughtful. "That or die. I thought you'd died right there by me, with me doing nothing to stop it. I mean… what good am I, if I can't even keep the people I care about safe? I thought I'd lost you that day."

"I'm still here, Grantaire," Enjolras murmured, his voice more gentle than the other had ever heard. "I'm not dead."

"I know, but you could have been… and your old man wants you dead now. What if the next time you don't get so lucky?"

"Then I'll die for my beliefs."

"What good does that do?"

"What good is life if there's nothing worth dying for? Surely you've learned that in all of this."

"I have something worth dying for," Grantaire proclaimed proudly.

"What's that?" his leader asked tiredly, a small smile perking his lips.

"You," the larger man said in all seriousness.

There was a silence between them. The conversation had taken place before, more times than not in the form of angry shouts coming from the irritated blond that demanded why Grantaire bothered them. Why was he there if he served no purpose? The answer had always been to irritate before, and few times like this. If he had ever said it in seriousness then Enjolras had been too angry to believe him. Now he merely stared at him.

"Say something, Apollo."

"Stop calling me that."

"Why? You're a god."

"I'm not God."

"I didn't say you were. I said you were a god. Above your peers. That makes you a god in my eyes."

"Listen, Grantaire-" His statement was cut off as the sound of the front door being broken in reached the back room. He shot up out of bed, regretting the action within a moment as he tripped over himself. Grantaire was by his side, though he wasn't sure when he'd gotten up, but his hands were steadying the blond now and Enjolras saw his bedroom door open and a cocky looking soldier filled in.

"Alexis Enjolras."

Enjolras stood, shaking Grantaire's hands off and tried to regain as much of his dignity as possible. "Yes."

A horrible smile passed over the soldier lips as he aimed his rifle at the injured young man. "Alexis Enjolras, you are hereby arrested in the name of His Majesty King Louis-Philippe, the King of France on accusations of treason of the highest account and the murder of good men who served in the national guard. All men with you will also be taken into custody. You really should come quietly, Monsieur Enjolras, or others may be hurt."

"You bastard," Enjolras hissed. "You people raised a white flag at the barricade! You have no right!"

"We have every right," the soldier sneered. "And they certainly don't need to be explained to the likes of you, boy. Come now, or things may turn ugly."

At the sound of this another soldier dragged an exhausted looking Combeferre into the room by the collar of his shirt and tossed him to the ground. His eye was blackened and his cheek swollen as if he'd taken the butt of one of their rifles to his face. He most probably had.

Enjolras' eyes met his oldest friend's for a moment and Combeferre seemed to be pleading with Enjolras to flee. The blond shook his head and extended his wrists to be cuffed. "This is not over," he swore lowly.

"I'm sure it is. Move along there, Monsieur Revolutionary. You're taking up valuable time this evening."

----

The prison system reminded Enjolras of a sewer system. It was disgustingly filthy and smelled of death and decay. He was sure that if left to themselves that every man brought to this place would die of infections of some sort within weeks if not days.

"I believe it was Robespierre who said that society owes protection only to innocent citizens, wasn't it?" a voice rang through the all but empty cell.

Enjolras scrunched hits nose. "Who are you to be quoting Robespierre, Father?"

"No one in particular. I thought you might appreciate it."

"He would have spoken against people like you."

"I know, but think of it this way," Nicolas Enjolras said with a wave of his hand and he leaned on the bars, "Robespierre set the foundation for your little revolution, and through your revolution I will sit upon the throne. Can you see that, Alexis? All of you Republicans' hard work has put those you hate most in power."

Anger boiled in the young revolutionary. "Shut up."

"I thought it ironic that you landed in this cell, don't you, Alexis?" Nicolas asked with a smile. "Do you know it? The one in which Saint Just waited for his impending death at the guillotine. Just as you are."

"You won't win this, Father."

"But I already have."

Enjolras threw himself at the bars, using every ounce of his power to shake them. "Father! You'll doom this nation!"

"No, Alexis! You and your people have doomed it! I am only taking what I can from it."

"It is what you're good at, is it not?" his wife's son spat. "Taking what does not belong to you and using it to your gain."

"You would have done well to learn from your father, Alexis, but alas, you did not. You followed your mother's footsteps. She so wanted to see what you would have become, boy. She had so much faith in you, but I knew you were nothing but a rebellious youth that would be put into your place." Nicolas watched his son fume for a moment before smiling. "You have an audience with the king, my boy. Will you come quietly?"

"The people will not stand for this."

"I'm not worried that they will. Come along now."

------------

The room was empty save for the man dressed up in all of his frill, sipping tea at a table, and looking over notes. He was accompanied only by the near non-existence presence of two guards whom Enjolras recognized as his father's men. The doors opened at the far side o reveal a young man whom the blond revolutionary had not seen in some years: his cousin by his father's sister Anton D'Aubigne.

"My how you've grown, Alexis," Louis-Philippe said as he looked up from his notes. "Though, I suppose I should not be so informal to the boy who is about to serve trial for treason against me and my crown."

"You have no right to try me," Enjolras growled out.

"And why is that?" the king asked the young man.

"Your men raised a white flag during battle."

"I've heard of no such thing, my boy," Louis-Philippe said sadly.

"Liar," Enjolras hissed. "Perhaps I was wrong when I assumed you to only be a naïve fool and not a horrible man like your predecessors."

"I fear you've given me little choice in my sentencing of all of this. If you wish no trial, I have no choice. Nicolas, I am sorry."

"I'm not," the villain said, though speaking of something entirely different, andhe pulled a pistol from his pocket. The shot rang out through the room and echoed off of the walls, making everyone's ears hurt. The king fell dead to the ground and Nicolas had tossed the gun at his son before the younger man knew what was happening. He stood with eyes wide at the dead king before him.

The doors were flung open and guards stood in horror.

"Arrest him. He'll be put to death tomorrow for the murder of the King of France," Nicolas spat.

Enjolras looked horrified. "I… I didn't. Wouldn't." He felt hands clasp around both of his arms and haul him off of his feet, gun that he didn't realize he was even holding pulled roughly from his hands. This wasn't how it was suppose to happen. No matter what he had just said, he never had seen Louis-Philippe as a bad man that needed to be taken out, merely to step down and allow the people to rule. He had felt that the king would have allowed it to happen if he'd been forced to see reason. Surely he'd have seen it…

"He had no heirs… No family to take his place," one of the soldiers sputtered.

"I do believe Uncle would be the logical replacement, if only temporarily," Anton said quietly from behind Nicolas.

"Please, Anton," Nicolas said with a horrible subdued smile. "Let what needs to be done be done. For now this… filth needs to be hauled away and our dear departed king's body tended to."

Enjolras felt himself being tugged towards the door and he snapped out of his shock and began struggling. "You're wrong! He shot him! He wants the throne. I swear, on my life, I'll see that you pay for this! Pay with your life, do you hear me? I will not see this used for your evil!"

"Take that traitor away," Nicolas said as he turned to hide his smile of triumph.

--------------

A/N: Now then, I really know very little about Louis-Philippe other than Hugo, from what I remember, said that he was not a bad man, so I've tried to balance my portrayal of him. Yes, I've really screwed with history this time, haven't I? It's getting worse and worse, this AUness, but I'm enjoying it. The plot has picked back up and now I'm to write more! Thanks for all of your patience with me thus far. Hopefully it'll be flying from here on out.

Tsunami Wave: Well, you're the only one quick enough to get a review up as I'm on this mad-dash for this fanfic. Wuha! Go me. Anyway, yeah, poor Bouvet. How we love him, he's a dear, really he is. And don't worry, if Anna and I finish our fanfic, you'll see Enjolras tipsy. He's actually rather sweet tipsy….

TBC

TS


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen: The Long Night Ahead**

A/N: I would just like to note that this is _NOT_ intended to be slash between Grantaire and Enjolras. They are very close and I know some of you will read it as slash, and go ahead, but it's not intended to be that way, I swear. Anna, stop laughing. I know you don't believe me, but it's true. Bah!

-----

News traveled like wildfire through Paris. It wasn't long before Gavroche found himself at the door of Jean Valjean, pounding as hard as his small fist could pound and screaming for Marius. The door was opened by none other than Valjean himself and Gavroche suddenly felt very, very small.

"Please, Monsieur," he begged, "I've come to see Marius Pontmercy."

"What business do you have with him?" Valjean asked, eyeing the boy.

"Surely you know his friends, Monsieur! And surely you've heard what's happened!"

"I'm afraid I have not. The lot of us have been cooped up for the past few days…"

"The king is dead and Enjolras framed for it! I went by the jail and his execution is scheduled for tomorrow midmorning! I need Marius' help, Monsieur, as everyone else is locked away too! Please…" The boy erupted into sobs and Valjean lead him into the house, handing him something to drink and when he'd settled down he sent a very worried looking Cosette after Marius.

"What's happened?" the young student asked as he entered the room.

Gavroche retold the story in all haste to the elder man who sat down hard at the end of it. His eyes were wide with shock and Cosette was gripping his shoulder in fright. "I have to do something. There has to be a way to get him out," Marius murmured.

"You expect to break the revolutionary free?" Javert asked from the doorway leading to the kitchen. He was propped there, eyes looking tired and lines deep in his face from the past few days. His hair, surprisingly enough, was loose around his shoulders. "How do you know that this Enjolras did not kill the king? He was the one behind the barricades."

"Because that is not Enjolras! He would never kill a man in cold blood. He's honourable."

"Honourable," the former inspector spat.

"Javert, would it be fruitless to ask how we might be able to get to Enjolras?" Valjean asked quietly.

The smaller man looked horrified at this.

"I thought as much," Valjean responded.

"My son has little to do with it, but I might have more so," DeLancy's voice drifted in after his son. After the two's conversation had been broken off by the sound of the weeping child in the main room he had waited only a moment to follow Javert to see what was happening. "I will not let an innocent man die tomorrow," he swore.

"And if he's not innocent, you will be guilty of breaking a man out of jail who deserved to die," his son retorted.

"Then let it be on my head."

"Do you have a plan, Monsieur?" Gavroche asked, eyes wide.

DeLancy smiled, ruffling his hair. "I just might, my boy. I just might. I want to you to go to everyone you think loyal to this fledgeling Republic of yours and get them as riled up as possible. We'll meet at the scaffolding tomorrow."

-----

Enjolras had been tossed into his cell to find that he was no longer alone in it. If it were one last kindness or a simple oversight, Grantaire sat in his cell, back against the wall, gazing at his god. "Are you afraid now?" he murmured quietly.

"'Those who would make revolutions in the world, those who want to do good in this world must sleep only in the tomb.' I had little other end."

"Your pretty quotes," Grantaire spat. "I've heard you use them before. You both hate and worship those two men, don't you? Robespierre and Saint Just, and look at us now! We're no better off."

"I thought perhaps you'd grown out of your cynical ways, Grantaire," Enjolras answered him.

"Me? Never. It's all I have to cling to. After all, if even the mighty Apollo falls, whom do I have to look to? You were what I lived for and tomorrow by ten o'clock your head will roll. It's rather distressing, wouldn't you say? Though I suppose _your_ heroes were dead before you were even born."

"So that's it then, is it? Your last words to me will be ones of spite because I've gone and gotten myself killed for my cause. No, I'm not afraid to die, but you were right on all other accounts, Grantaire. They won't remember me, my death means nothing, and my life… It's just another lie that people tell because there is _nothing _called freedom!" The end was shouted and Enjolras fell forward, exhausted and felt hot tears streaming down his face. "It's worthless," he murmured brokenly. "All completely useless…" His breath was hitched with sobbing and his whole body shook under the pressure of dammed up emotion that was being let loose.

He heard Grantaire stand and move to the bars. "Guard!" he called out. "Get me out of this cell, won't you? I don't have to sit here and listen to this. Let me talk to the man in charge. I have something he might find useful."

Enjolras looked up at his friend and looked horrified.

"Don't do that, Enjolras. It doesn't become you," the drunkard said in is most haughty voice that he could muster. The guard led him off and the fallen god did not hear what he next muttered. "And don't you dare die on me while I'm gone."

--------------

"What could a winecask like you possibly have for me?" Nicolas Enjolras asked coldly as Grantaire was led into the room.

It was the moment that he was released that the drunkard fell to his knees. "I don't really believe this to have any effect on you, as I try not to believe in anything, but I have to try. I will do _anything _to save Enjolras. Please. Anything, Monsieur. He is my dearest, dearest friend and he is the only one that has ever made me hope for anything. Please!"

"Why that show in there?" Nicolas asked as he waved back towards the cells.

"I… I couldn't let him stop me. If he'd told me to stop, I would have, but I couldn't stop. He has to live, you see, even if his dream isn't realized. I think the world might stop without him."

At this the aristocrat broke out into fits of laughter. "Might it?" he asked sarcastically, not taking the drunkard's heartfelt confession seriously. "Well then, surely we should let him live then, because the world really must go on, mustn't it? Throw him back in with his savior. Let them rot together. He'll have a front row seat tomorrow and perhaps he'll catch the boy's head!"

"No!" Grantaire screamed. "You don't understand what you're doing!"

"I know exactly what and I will not have it. His people never rose up and they never will. He has _lost _and if I hadn't ordered the white flag he would have died on those forsaken barricades with a chair and a table as his marker, blood spilling for hishalo, andhis bloodied gold hair that would have been loose around his head. He would have been dead long ago. He owes me this, if you look at it that way."

"I'll see you in hell," Grantaire snapped. "You deserve it most of all!"

-------------

Grantaire was tossed into the cell and lay there for a moment, on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He heard no movement around him and wondered if they'd taken Enjolras from the cell while he'd been out. He sat up slowly and his chocolate eyes came to rest on the very still form of the blond, huddled against he far wall. "'jolras?" he called quietly and received no response.

The drunkard inched towards his idol, shaking him slightly. "Enjolras? Wake up. You can't sleep right now. I need to talk to you… Please?" Panic began to rise within him and he shook the younger man harder. "Enjolras! Wake up, damn you. You can't die yet! You hear me, you can't die! We've been through too much for you to die now! Wake up!" He cried and clung to the smaller man, willing him to live and to move.

Finally, as if his prayers had been answered, Enjolras twitched in his embrace. A groan came from the blond and his blue eyes fluttered open. "Grantaire?" he rasped.

"My word," the other cried. "I thought you were dead."

"Wouldn't matter," Enjolras murmured, trying desperately to pull away.

Grantaire tugged him back and the smaller man fell against him and they sat there for a moment before the drunkard shifted around so his back was resting against the wall. Enjolras had little energy to move away and he rested his head back against the other man's broad chest. "Why?" he whispered, hot tears stinging his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Grantaire whispered softly. "I'm so sorry…"

"For what?"

There was something in the revolutionary's hollow whisper that caused the cynic to feel as if all was lost. "For pushing you to say what you said. Surely you don't really believe-"

"And if I do, then what?"

"Then I'll die along side you, because I'll stand by what you believe, even if you feel it's not worthy of you any longer."

"The people deserted us, Grantaire. They never came. They'll never come. They don't _care_, don't you see? I hand them freedom bought with my toil, sweat, and blood and they turn away."

"They'll come around," Grantaire promised.

"When? When I'm dead and my father holds them captive? Wonderful timing."

The cynic stroked the younger man's blond hair soothingly. "Something will happen. I can't imagine that we could have come this far and lose it all now."

"I hope you're right, Grantaire."

A goofy grin spread across the other man's dirtied face. "I am. Now get some sleep, Apollo. I'll watch over you."

"Grantaire," Enjolras murmured sleepily as he nestled in against the other.

"Hmm?"

"I never told you… You are my dearest friend. I'm sorry I never told you."

Grantaire felt his breath hitch and his friend fell silent, asleep against him. The drunkard settled in for the longest night of his life, and said a silent prayer that it not be Enjolras' last.

TBC

TS


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen: They Will See the People Rise**

A/N: Okay, so don't expect four chapters a day ever, ever again.

-----

Morning dawned far too early in Grantaire's opinion. Enjolras stirred in his grasp and he only tightened his hold on the smaller man. If he didn't let go, perhaps they would never come for him.

Enjolras groaned in his sleep, shifting. His blue eyes fluttered open and he was suddenly struggling to get out of Grantaire's grasp. "Let go," he mumbled, not fully awake.

"Enjolras, don't. It's me. It's Grantaire. Please, don't struggle."

The revolutionary leader settled down against his friend, shivering. "It's cold."

"A bit. I think you've got a fever. Combeferre's probably throwing a fit with the conditions in these cells, huh? Infections like none other and all…."

"You and me both," Enjolras murmured. "How long?"

"I have no idea," Grantaire admitted. "I'm afraid they took my pocket watch when they threw us in here."

This brought a chuckle from the blond. "You always could make me laugh."

Grantaire grinned. "Three things I do well: Drink, make trouble, and make Enjolras laugh. I can die a fulfilled man now."

Enjolras opened his mouth to respond when the sound of the guard approaching reached their ears. A short, ugly man stood at the gate. "Well ain't this a cute sight," he growled out. "Up, both o' ya. You've a meeting with a blade today, Monsieur Enjolras."

Guards came in and hauled Enjolras up to his feet. He felt ill and he was sure that they'd been right about infection setting in. It had only been a matter of time. It wasn't like he'd taken the best care of his wounds up until that point. Grantaire was dragged right behind him, both up to the top level and out to the streets.

People lined the streets. The people… had they come to watch him die? His people that he had long since loved and fought for, they had finally come. Yes, they were late, but they were there. If they were behind this act, then who was he to stop them? If his people wanted him dead, he would gladly slip his head into the slot and allow it to role, as that was his place in life, given to him by God.

"Look, Grantaire."

The drunk had noticed. "They don't look happy."

"You think?" Enjolras asked, not sure if he was reading them the same way. They didn't look particularly _unhappy _to him, but his vision was blurring by this time. He stumbled and was hauled roughly up the scaffolding.

"No tripping, lest ya hurt yourself before ya die," the guard grunted.

Enjolras felt hands roughly push against his back, forcing him down. Grantaire was yelling, fighting wildly, but he found little strength to protest himself. He was so tired, and perhaps this would finally allow him the rest he needed.

"Will you let them murder the man that fought for you!" Grantaire screamed at the crowd. "Will you let them murder the one that raised the flag for you, stood on the barricades for you? You bunch of cowards!"

Murmurs rose from the crowd and the unhappy bunch of people was slowly turning into an unhappy mob that was becoming angrier by the moment. Shouts of "Save the Republic" and "If we don't stand for it, no one will!" rang through them and Nicolas Enjolras suddenly looked very uneasy from his perch next to the guillotine.

"I want it off now," the greying man growled.

"Enjolras!" Grantaire shouted. "Your people fight for you! Won't you join them?"

He heard it, he knew he did, but trying to regain control of his actions was like swimming upward against a downward current. It was nearly impossible and he was so very, very tired. "Grantaire," he rasped, body threatening to give up on him. A body could only take so much, something said in the back of his mind, but the next part was unexpected. But the soul…. The soul was what mattered and what could live.

Enjolras' eyes suddenly came to focus and he fought wildly against his captors. Hands tried to subdue him from all directions but he continued to struggle. The people had erupted into chaos all around him, using everything to fight. They were attacking the guards and the soldiers with anything they could get their hands on. They were rising up, and they were rising up for him.

Grantaire, who had broken free, was at Enjolras' side the instant he could be. "You alright?"

"I won't hold for long," the blond answered truthfully. "My energy's failing me."

"Then let's get out of here."

"No, I won't let them fight alone. We get my father, we have it won."

"This man here?" a voice rang out.

Enjolras and Grantaire looked over to see a middle aged man gruffly holding the fine collar of Nicolas Enjolras, who was struggling but not making it anywhere. His son approached him, eyes narrowed.

"Should you thank your citizen?" Nicolas growled.

"I would watch your tongue," Enjolras answered back.

It was not long before the mob overwhelmed the relatively small group of overly loyal soldiers that stood behind Nicolas Enjolras. Shouts of triumph resounded in Paris that day as Alexis Enjolras stepped gingerly up on the scaffolding so that he could be seen and heard. A few familiar faces peered back at him and he had a strange sense of déjà vu from all of those times that seemed so long ago where he stood above the crowd and cried out a passionate message of times to come. Now the time was here.

He stared for a moment, eyes locking on the crowd, his captive father, Les Amis who stood now unbound and proud below him, Bouvet who seemed to be grinning ear to ear, and everything that surrounded him. This was his fledgling Republic. He had had so many things he thought to say on this day, so many words already chosen, but the only thing that left his lips was a cry of "_Vive la République!_"

The shout echoed through the crowd and they cheered for their newfound freedom from oppression. They cheered and Enjolras thought that he might be dead and this might be heaven. He felt Grantaire steady him from behind and looked out onto the crowd with a glowing pride. "My friends!" he cried, excitement carrying his voice when strength could not. "Today begins a new era! The end of tyranny! The end of oppression for the people of France!" Cheers broke out amongst the crowd. "I stand before you, not as one who wishes to rule you, but one who wishes to serve you! I tell you this: there will be no Reign of Terror under this Republic. Even this man, who had murdered Louis-Philippe – a man that was never malicious, albeit a fool – and stolen powerfor himself, will not die without a fair trial and judgment _by the people alone_!" The people cheered once more and the revolutionary felt his strength was nearly gone. He looked back at Grantaire and the other nodded, ready to catch him if the need arose. "I'm afraid, friends, that I cannot speak long, though some of you know I can be rather longwinded." A brief chuckle passed through the crowd. "The time of his trial shall be posted for all to see, so that you may all have a place in it. Now, is there one among you who you might call on for temporary leadership until one can be chosen by all?"

The was a low hush in the crowd and Enjolras thought for sure he'd pass out before they made up their minds. Grantaire was steadying him again and he still felt the world sway around him, even if he were upright.

"Alexis Enjolras!" the name rang through the streets.

"Who better than the man who raised the flag on the barricade?" more voices demanded.

"Enjolras!"

"Enjolras!"

"I bow to the people's demands, as I am their servant," Enjolras responded.

The rest was a blur as Grantaire supported most of his weight down the stairs and the crowd seemed to disperse. It was natural that Les Amis was suddenly in charge of everything and Enjolras left Courfeyrac in charge of dealing with his father with the strict orders of a jail cell only, as the people had not delivered his sentence yet. The other man had reluctantly agreed and gathered men to help him.

It was some way down the street that Enjolras felt himself swoon and everything went black.

TBC

TS

-----

A/N: Sooooo... the Republic is in place and things are on their way, but as many of you might guess,t hings are far from over. A new government is never easy to run and and all of that. The trial will be the next major instalment of this fic, and it's turning into quite a doozy. Thanks for all the support and I hope that it's been up to standards so far.

Anna: Yay for reading fanfiction! Sorry for spoiling the last three chatpers, mon ami, but this one you have not had spoiled for you :P


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen: A Ghost Attends the Funerals**

Enjolras came to very slowly, his blue eyes fluttering open slowly and his hands groping in the darkness to gain an idea of where he was. Had he dreamt that the people had risen up for him and now he was dead? He didn't expect heaven or hell to be so dark…. And it smelled strangely of his rooms that he kept. No candle burned nor a lamp lit and he struggled into a sitting position, allowing his eyes to become accustom. Now he could see more clearly. The curtains had been pulled tightly closed so no moonlight could enter and the room was empty for all other except Grantaire who was asleep in a chair by the door, head resting against the wall. He looked uncomfortable.

The blond pushed back the bed sheets and swung his legs over the side. He landed quietly on the wooden floor of his room and stepped over to where the drunkard slept. "Grantaire?" he whispered, touching his shoulder lightly.

Grantaire jerked awake, eyes wide, and finally came to rest on the younger man standing before him. A smile spread across his face and he reached up for his idol as if he were still sleeping. "You've been asleep a really long time," he said tiredly.

This did not set well with the blond. "How long?"

"A day," Grantaire answered, looking as if maybe he were waking up more. "You've been sleeping a day. Combeferre's come by to check on you several times. He kept telling me to get water down you and when you woke to get you to eat something. Are you hungry?"

"Yes," Enjolras responded, not realizing until that moment just how hungry he was.

"Good. Then I don't have to fight you on it," Grantaire said with a grin. He stood and they moved out of the room together. "We probably need to change the dressing on your wound. Your fever's down, but Combeferre said he'd rather keep you in bed for another couple of days while things settle out."

"That won't do. I've already lost time."

"There's nothing urgent yet."

"Nothing urgent?" Enjolras echoed in awe. "We set up the Republic yesterday, Grantaire. We have to try my father, do with him what the people see fit, weed out his men, set up a permanent leader through election, and… there's so much. I can't even say it all."

The drunkard saw little way to appease his leader except allow him the freedom to do what he could for his beloved people. "Marius was by earlier. He says that Cosette's father would like to fund a funeral for those who died on the barricade, if you'll have it."

"Of course," Enjolras answered quickly. "We'll arrange for it by tomorrow's end. It should happen now, and then the trial."

"You plan to sleep at all within the foreseeable future?" Grantaire asked with a smirk.

Enjolras stared at him a moment, as if he were going to give him a lecture, but then a small smile perked his lips. "Probably not."

-----

The next day and a half was filled with busying about. Things were difficult, at best, but with the proclamation that Nicolas Enjolras was to stand trial for his crimes and the fact that the entire country seemed to be behind Les Amis, things were getting done.

Enjolras, upon question, had refused to move into the palace, stating that his rooms were good enough for him and if he must do business in the monstrosity, it would only be business. He would not live apart from the people, for that would be his downfall.

The funeral arrangements for those that fell – and even a lesser ceremony for the National Guard who had died – was set to be held two days later and Nicolas' trial would be the day after that. Along with all of this being posted on the streets, in the papers, and spread by word of mouth for those that could not read, the announcement came that Enjolras meant to hold elections, not to simply fall into the leadership position. In fact, Enjolras did not even mean to put his name on the ballot.

A sharp rap came on the door and the revolutionary leader's sat up quickly from where he'd hoped to catch a five minute nap before he was needed. Joly, who had had the same idea, also jerked away, eyes wide as he fumbled his way off of the sofa he'd collapsed on in exhaustion a few minutes before. The door opened and Bouvet poked his head in. "Enjolras? Are you ready?"

The blond nodded, straightening his black suit that he'd managed to dig out of his flat. "Everything's prepared then?"

Bouvet nodded, watching Joly stretch and yawn, moving to join them at the door. "The funeral is to begin in half an hour and the people will expect-"

"A speech," Enjolras said, not really asking.

"They seem to like your speeches."

"It riles them, that's all," the younger man said with a knowing smile.

"They've wanted nothing but talks from you since they voted you their leader."

"That wasn't a vote, that was… It's not my place, Bouvet, surely you understand that."

"I'm afraid I don't," the National Guard said slowly. "And I don't believe the people of France will either. There're murmurs in the street about your name not being on the ballot."

Enjolras shook his head. "I am a soldier, at best. I'm the one who brings it about. I know violence and death, which is not what will lead our nation now. Someone along the lines of Combeferre – logical, practical, and not quite as calculating – should lead. Tell me he put his name on the paper."

"He did, but only because you didn't."

"He's more suited, we always knew that."

Bouvet didn't respond as they walked out and to the grounds where the funeral was to be held.

-------

The day was overcast, but not raining. A few rays of sunshine were poking through the clouds as if they had been pierced with a sword. Grantaire and Combeferre had met Enjolras, Joly, and Bouvet at the gravesites before everyone else was meant to show.

"There's already a crowd here," Grantaire noted, looking at the people all around.

"Do you know any of them?" Bouvet questioned.

"Some in passing. The café, school, the streets where they were so often… They were everywhere and now they've all come to bid our fallen friends farewell," Enjolras murmured. "Ah, look, Grantaire. Isn't that Rosy?"

The drunkard looked over to where his smaller friend was pointing, and there she stood. The bar maiden of the Café Musain, dressed all in black with her bright red hair pulled up on her head, curls tamed, and lips painted a pretty shade of pink instead of the bright red in which she usually wore. She spotted Grantaire staring and waved at him, approaching the small group.

"Grantaire, Enjolras, Combeferre! It's so good to see you all. I hadn't heard who all was alive and who wasn't. I thought for sure some of Les Amis must have been killed, but…" She pulled a handkerchief from the folds of her dress and dabbed at unusually dainty tears that fell from her dark green eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm such a pathetic little thing, ain't I?"

"It's alright," Grantaire assured, not sure quite how to console her.

"To see you three is a sight though," Rosy said with a smile. "Were any of you badly injured?"

"Both of them," Combeferre answered her tiredly. "And they're both horrible patients, I assure you."

This brought a laugh from the young woman. "Well, at least you're all alive. I've reopened a portion of the café. Obviously I haven't had all the damaged fixed… Her owner is still out of Paris, but left a note for me that if and when I came back I was to take the money out of the safe and do what I could to get her up and runnin' for business. If you'd like, after the funeral, I'd propose a celebration of these fine men's lives, what say you?"

"Well I say 'how much alcohol will there be?'" Grantaire responded with a huge grin.

Enjolras snorted irritably. "Always one thought. I could have sworn that you'd promised not to drink another drop."

"Oh, Enjolras," Rosy teased. "It's in celebration of your victory. Of the people's victory. How can you turn that down?"

The blond looked at her and noticed the strain, tired look that rested on her face. "I think that would be good. It will show people that life may continue on, though better. Much better."

"Good!" Rosy exclaimed, looking relieved. "Then it'll be an open bar tonight. For all."

"Enjolras," Courfeyrac's voice rang in their ears. "It's time to begin."

Grantaire watched the smaller man nod and walk to the front of the gathering crowd. He took his seat next to Rosy, feeling both uncomfortable and happy as she reached for his hand as the tears began to flow. Enjolras had the crowd's attention upon his entrance. He spoke of those who died. He spoke of their lives, their purpose, and that it was up to the living to show that their deaths were not in vain. He assured the people that he would, above all else, continue to fight for that until the day he too was laid in the ground. The speech began to phase out to Grantaire as he turned to the young woman next to him and gripped her hand, reaching the other around her shoulders and holding her closer in a moment of compassion, easing her tears if at all possible. Rosy cried into his broad shoulder and a part of history was laid to rest, the page being turned.

----

The word spread quickly that the 'celebration of life' was being held at the newly reopened Café Musain and everyone in the city of Paris seemed to be trying to find a place in the café. Rosy was busy, as were all the young barmaids that helped her. They scurried about in such a fashion that Grantaire turned up being left to his own devices, rather than in the company that he'd expected to be in.

"You don't have to look so distraught," a voice said from behind him.

He turned to see a slightly smirking Enjolras. He hadn't seen the younger man since the funerals and now he stood, dressed in all black except for the stark white shirt and a red vest. The drunkard had not seen that red vest since the day of the barricades and it seemed to bring Enjolras back several weeks to when he was only a student with large dreams, not the man that he'd become so very, very quickly. "I'm not distraught."

"You were just hoping for a dance with Rosy?"

Grantaire stared at the blond for a moment before the other moved to take a surprisingly empty seat next to him.

"She asked me if I might tell you to wait for her after everyone leaves."

"You never cease to amaze me," the drunkard mumbled.

"Mm?" Enjolras looked away, eyes watching the crowds. Even if he did look like the student he had been, there were very stark signs of all that had happened, if one looked. His face was still ashen coloured, even more so after the stress of the funeral speech, and he walked slower than he once had, arm protectively wrapped around his still wounded midsection when he wasn't thinking enough keep the sign away.

It was a moment before Grantaire realized that he seemed to be watching someone, instead of the crowd in general. Those blue orbs were locked onto one individual that the drunkard could not seem to find. "Looking for someone?" he questioned.

"I thought I saw someone."

"Who?"

"No one that you'd know." He stood and started towards where he'd been looking. "I'll be back in a bit. Tell Combeferre not to worry if he asks."

Grantaire watched the blond move towards the far door and couldn't help but follow.

-----

Enjolras moved through the crowd, towards the back door and finally locked eyes with the man he had spotted. Dark, deep eyes widened as he realized he'd been spotted and he hurried out the door, Enjolras hot on his heals. "Wait! Please!" the revolutionary called out, following as best as he could.

He stumbled out the door, into the summer night. The man was walking down the alleyway and appeared to have stopped at the far end of it. He waited until Enjolras reached him.

Enjolras stood, breath coming in almost gasps and pain rising through him. "Please… I saw you in there, and I'm sure I saw you at the funeral this afternoon."

"Perhaps," the stranger said as he leaned against the wall. "What of it?"

"You look like…" Enjolras stopped himself, watching the other blond man before him. "Are you a ghost, Monsieur?"

"A ghost?" the other laughed. "Maybe."

"Or perhaps a strong likeness to one that is dead?"

The young man grinned strangely. "No, I'm who you think I am. If you want to call me a ghost, go ahead. A figment of your imagination, if you wish. The job with drive you mad, you know. All that running about in battle and then it settles. What is a soldier to do but start after those who oppose him and his ideals? Do you know the answer, Alexis Enjolras?"

"Step down, allow the people to rule," Enjolras answered with conviction.

"Yes… perhaps that is where we went wrong, do you think?"

"I… don't know."

"Well you best get to finding that out, boy, lest you make the same mistakes. France has been given a second chance. Don't mess it up or you'll damn yourself and all those you love." He reached out a hand to the younger man and rested it against his cheek. All Enjolras could think was how cold it felt against his skin, as if it were ice against fire. Blue eyes fluttered closed against the feeling and when they opened again, the man was gone.

"Enjolras!"

The blond turned to see Grantaire running towards him and it was at that moment that his knees gave out on him. The drunkard caught him before he hit the ground, cradling the smaller man to him.

"Did you see him, Grantaire?" Enjolras asked frantically. "Did you see him?"

"Who, 'jolras?" the other man responded, stroking blond hair gently.

"Saint-Just."

This brought a startled chuckle from the dark haired man. "Enjolras, don't say crazy things like that. There was no one there. You walked out into the alley and collapsed. Look at you, you've got a fever again. What are we going to do with you, hmm? You never rest…"

"I saw him, Grantaire," Enjolras said stubbornly. "I know I did." He clung to the larger man's shirt, buring his face in it. Why wouldn't he believe him? He was so sure he'd felt that delicate, cold hand touch his cheek, heard those words in his ear. Was it possible the fever was playing with his mind that much? Combeferre would have a fit if he found out.

"There was no one there, Enjolras," Grantaire said gently.

"Don't tell 'Ferre, please?" the ill man murmured.

"I won't, if you'll come on now. We need to get you to bed."

"What about Rosy?"

"She'll understand," the taller man said as he scooped Enjolras into his arms and stood, holding the blond close to his body. Heat was radiating off of him. Apparently the day had taken more out of him than he'd let on to anyone. Grantaire sighed as he buried his face in the silky blond hair and placed a kiss on his friend's head. "She'll understand."

--------

TBC

TS

A/N: Rosy came about in a story Anna and I are working on and suddenly she had a face, a name, and a personality. I'm not entirely sure where they came from. It just happened. So she's not a major character, but just a bit for Grantaire. As Anna said, if you were to work in a café with hot rebels in there all the time, you'd have a crush on them too.

Tsunami Wave: I thought he might too. I've had moments where something in my mind whispers 'he's dead. End it here' but then I shove it further back. Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it and I hope you continue to.

Enjolras Freak: Well… there's more, at any rate… :)

Caligirl-HPLVR: Good to see you! I'm glad that you liked the chapters and I'm glad I've gotten everything across well!


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen: The Trial**

a/n: Contrary to what I would love to be able to do, I don't always do enough research for this particular fanfic… I already knew that King Louis-Philippe was, more or less, a decent king. Apparently, in his younger days, he was actually part of the Jacobin Club (the party which Robespierre and Saint-Just were a part of) and then ran from it later in life… wikipedia has a page on him, which would have been useful to read before hand. But this is an AU, and since I've twisted history enough as it is, for this purpose he was a good man, though easily manipulated and with no heirs, even though in reality he had ten children. So there… I think that covers everything to let you know that he wasn't a particularly bad man, from what I've read, and I'm sure that I've completely botched his whole personality in this, but so be it. The wonders of AU's. Oh, and on a happy, happy note: I got my laptop back :)

-----

Enjolras moaned as the sunlight washed over his face. "Too early," he mumbled, curling up around his pillow and turning his back to the window. "Close the curtains."

"You'd kill me if I let you sleep any longer, Enjolras," Grantaire answered.

"What's so important?" the blond grumbled, not fully awake.

This made the taller man smile as he sat on the edge of his friend's bed. He placed a large hand on Enjolras' pale face, checking for the fever that had been so persistent. It was there, like it had been for several days, but it was lower again. They really couldn't have him seeing ghosts in the middle of the trial…

Enjolras moaned lowly at the cool hand against his warm skin. "Grantaire, just let me sleep."

"The trial, Enjolras," the cynic reminded him quietly.

The younger man bolted upright, blue eyes wide. "The trial! How could I forget?"

"Being asleep will do that to you."

Enjolras flung himself out of bed and to his small wardrobe that stood in the corner. "What time is it?"

"You're not late, don't worry," Grantaire responded easily. "It's only nine. We're not due at the courthouse until ten."

"And it'll take a good half an hour to walk there!"

"We'll take a cab if we need to. Don't worry. You'll have enough on your mind by the day's end. You are trying your father after all."

Enjolras stopped what he was doing and looked over to his friend. He'd not stopped to really think about that the man he would be trying to condemn today was the very man that raised him, put a roof over his head, and educated him all of his life long. It was today that he would give a speech, as the people so enjoyed, that would possibly damn the man he had called 'father' all his life to death, and he was certain to the fiery pit of hell soon after.

"Are you alright with that?" Grantaire asked softly, as if reading his thoughts.

Enjolras yanked his shirt over his head. "I have little choice in the matter. I will state the facts before us and let the people decide."

"And you will do their bidding."

"And I will do their bidding, yes."

"Until they damn your soul."

Enjolras watched him for a long moment before smiling. "I have faith in the people that they will do what is right."

"I asked you once – do you remember? – who would lead the people if you died. Enjolras, you lived. Don't forget to lead the people."

-------

The courthouse was stuffed to the walls with people. Few had seats and many stood outside of the windows, hoping for a glimpse of what might happen and a chance to hear Enjolras. Their night of drinking and merriment had not subdued their lust for justice. A path was cleared without a word as Enjolras and Grantaire walked up the steps to the main room and to the front.

Nicolas Enjolras was sitting in a chair at the front of the room, hands cuffed in his lap and eyes scowling as his son walked in. His clothes, once the best that money could buy, were tattered after only four short days in the prisons and his hair was ratted and seemed to have greyed more in the past few days than the many years before. His eyes locked on his son and the citizen at his side placed a firm hand on his shoulder, ensuring that he would stay down.

"Enjolras!" Combeferre called as he crossed the crowded courtroom. "You disappeared last night without a word."

"I'm sorry," the taller man said quietly. "I was tired. I went home to sleep."

"At least you did that," his old friend responded with a huff. Combeferre looked perfectly exhausted, his lids threatening to droop over hazel eyes hidden behind chipped spectacles. "Are you up to this today?"

The blond nodded, his eyes scanning the restless crowd. "They're out for blood today."

"I'd say so," Combeferre responded. "We can't let it get out of hand, Enjolras. We promised ourselves and everyone else that this would not be a bloodbath. We can't let it get that far."

"I know," the other responded. "But you want him dead as much as they do."

Enjolras didn't give his friend the time to reply as he stepped away from them and up to a part of the room that was elevated. The people hushed gradually, their eyes fixed on the thin blond man that stood before them. This man, barely more than a boy, had become their savior. This child would raise them up, they knew, and they expected the words of God Himself to come from his perfect lips and not one lie did they expect. This man, this Alexis Enjolras, was the one that they'd been waiting for, praying for, and he would be their liberation, they knew. The one that would give them the opportunity to feed their children, to create a life instead of merely an existence. Such high expectations for one so young.

"My fellow citizens of France!" Enjolras called out to them and a cheer erupted immediately. He waited for them to quiet before he continued. "Any normal trial would not require such a turnout here, but this is a special time at the beginning of a new era in which the people will choose their own fate and destiny. I asked you here today, my friends, to call out your judgment on this man-" he pointed to his father – "Nicolas Enjolras."

The captive man's eyes widened a bit at the sound of angry shouts coming from all around. Those outside the courthouse who surely could not hear what was happening were feeding off of the emotions of those inside. Nicolas turned wide eyes on his son. The younger Enjolras refused to meet his gaze as he kept his sharp blue eyes locked on the people.

"His crimes are known by many," the blond youth continued loudly, his voice carrying even further than before. He wanted each man to choose for himself what happened today, not simply take what his neighbor said, "but I would have them known by all! This man-" he pointed again, still not looking at him – "was willing to use the barricades built for _you_, the citizens and hard working people of France, for his own gain. He used our victory, my friends, to murder the king who was never meant to die, only to step down. He murdered him in cold blood." He paused to let the murmurs die down before continuing. "He has long been holding the people of France captive from the shadows, using Louis-Philippe as a puppet to do his bidding and the people as personal slaves to do his work! Citizens, I ask you today, will you stand for it?"

Cries of rage broke forth as if from behind a dam. It took all of the men that Bouvet had gathered to hold the crowd back and only when Enjolras spoke up again did they quiet down. "My friends! Peace! You will not deliver justice today by killing him here. Perhaps not by killing him at all. It is your decision, my friends!"

"You forgot an accusation, Enjolras!" Courfeyrac called from where he stood inthe front of the crowd, next to the rest of Les Amis, Marius, and Cosette. He turned so his voice might be heard. "Nicolas Enjolras was the one that tried to have Alexis Enjolras guillotined!"

"That didn't need to be mentioned," Enjolras murmured to his friend who only grinned. The womanizer had known that the blond would have said nothing on his own of the matter, but it was out in the open now.

"We do not judge him today on what he has done to me, friends, but what he has done to you, the people! It is the people who rule France, not one man. It has been said before that it is a crime for one man to rule, and I stand by that, Citizens!"

Combeferre watched his friend through the whole speech, wondering how long it would be before his strength would fully give out beneath him, sending him tumbling forward. He was struggling, the medical student could tell, and his breath was labored as he projected his powerful voice.

"He's very ill, isn't he?" Cosette's soft voice somehow made it above the cries amongst the crowd.

Combeferre looked started by it. "Yes."

"He'll be alright though. He's strong," Marius assured her, wrapping his uninjured arm tightly around her shoulders. She clung to him, watching Enjolras carefully.

"I end my accusations against him and call for anyone that will stand for him, so that no one may say we were unjust today." Enjolras waited, breaths coming in gulps and not a soul moved. "You do not need to fear for yourselves if you wish to stand for him, or has he made that few friends over the years? Surely one good thing might be said." There was a slight sound of amusement in the blond's voice and a small smile perking his lips.

"I'll say somethin' for 'im!" one man yelled. "I'll say that he's an arrogant bastard that would have killed us all to get what he wanted!" The crowd cheered in accord.

"Then this is finished," Enjolras answered them. "All I ask of you now is that you do not pass judgment now. Nothing should be done in the heat of the moment."

"Except a revolution," Grantaire murmured with a grin.

Enjolras struggled not to roll his eyes. "My friends, return home. Think on it. I will ask for your answer along with your votes in three days' time." With that said, the people took themselves to be dismissed and slowly moved out of the courthouse, leaving Les Amis, a few of the guards that Bouvet had gathered, and Nicolas there.

"You've killed your own father, boy," Nicolas spat.

"And you would have killed your own son. Take him away."

"You have a very powerful way of speaking M. Enjolras," Cosette said from the side.

Enjolras turned toward her, eyes questioning for a moment before he recognized her and then Valjean who approached from behind. "Ah. Madmoiselle Cosette. A pleasure. If you'll excuse me, though, I should be leaving."

Grantaire watched Enjolras leave the courthouse, the signal clear that he wanted to be left alone for a bit. It had taken everything out of him and he seemed to want nothing more than a little solitude.

"I don't like leaving him alone," Combeferre fretted.

"I'll go," Grantaire offered. "Just in case."

-----

"Passionate, Alexis," a voice drifted into his ears.

Enjolras turned to see Anton standing at the end of the long alleyway he'd been walking down and his shoulders slumped. His cousin was, truth be told, the last person he wanted to see. They'd never gotten along well in their youth and had avoided each other at all costs once they'd set out for university. Why, oh why, had he chosen now to surface from the depths of apathy? All the elder cousin wanted was to make it back to his flat and collapse there.

"You're not speaking to me?" Anton asked as his cousin turned away. "How rude, truly, Alexis. I'm sure you of all people know that you must make the right friends at such a critical time as this."

"Anton," the blond said slowly, choosing his words carefully before he spoke, "the critical time you speak of is that for the people, not myself."

"You mean to tell me that you truly do not plan to better yourself out of this whole escapade? That you gain nothing of it? Not even the death of your father that you hate so much?"

By the time that Enjolras looked back, Anton was in his face, dark eyes looking up menacingly and a frightening grin of one that thought he knew, was sure that he knew, the inner workings of the other man's soul. "I don't want him to die," Enjolras said slowly.

"That's a lie and we both know it," the shorter man answered.

Two blue eyes locked with charcoal black ones. "What makes you think I want him to die?"

"Oh… Anyone would in your possition, Alexis. No one would blame you for hating the man. He always let you know that he hated you, in his ways. The lashes didn't help, did they? I remember a very young Alexis crying to his mother over a bloody back."

"Stop. You've said enough."

"Oh, but I don't think I have. Etienne remembers, I'm sure. Has he told a soul? Even that drunkard you keep as Robespierre kept Saint-Just?"

Enjolras stared at the other man. Truth be told, Combeferre had never known for sure about his father's so called punishments when they were children, but he was sure the young med student had suspected. He'd always been bright, even if Enjolras had always been one step ahead. "Grantaire is nothing like Saint-Just," was all the blond said.

"No, that's your position. You always strove to outdo everyone, didn't you Alexis? You must be the high combination of Robespierre and Saint-Just, mustn't you? So, will you take Uncle's head off before or after the people ask you to? Or does it matter?"

"Quit your mind games."

"Answer the question, Alexis."

"The guillotine is a horrific instrument."

"But you'd do it if the people asked?"

Enjolras stared at this cousin for a moment. "The people will do what is right."

"And yet you don't think the guillotine is right?"

"No, I don't. Why are you so convinced that they'll call for his head?"

"Because, my dear, naïve cousin, it is what the angry mob does best." That said, Anton turned and strode down the corridor, leaving Enjolras alone in the darkening alleyway and his own thoughts. He didn't notice Grantaire following him as he struggled home and collapsed in his own bed. He didn't notice that the drunkard let himself in, quiet as a mouse, and settled himself in a chair to watch the already sleeping revolutionary. He didn't notice any of it, just the way Grantaire had always liked it.

------

TBC

TS

A/N: AUGH! Alright, being the anal geek that I am, I have a timeline going so that I won't get the days mixed up on this fanfic. It's a long fic, so it makes sense, right? Anyway, somehow, stupid me, after going online back in the beginning and looking up a calendar for 1832 so that I'd have the right days put in, I put in **_JULY_**! Augh…. No, this is not 18th century French Revolution fanfiction… No, Saint-Just died in July, not Enjolras…. Augh. Anyway, frustrated much, yes? So I had my days all off. Lame. But it's fixed now and my timeline is updated. Go me.

Tsunami Wave: Rosy popped up in another fic Anna and I are working on and I just felt like she needed a short snippet in this. This isn't a romance, therefore she won't have a big part. You really can ignore her for the most part. And yay! Another Saint-Just fan! Okay, so he was a nutter… Not our fault, right? He was a very cool nutter. Yeah, poor Enjy. Being an idealist myself (with rather radical ideas for my own time… bah.) I can understand how it might go. The idea is 'this happens, then this, then this, then it smoothes out, things all fall into place and all goes to where it should.' But everything works out in the end, sometimes things just take a roundabout way, right:)

Precious Angel: Good! I'm glad the notes worked! I started thinking that since I'd been so quiet on this one that people probably had stopped looking for it, so I thought I might drop a few notes here and there. :) And yeah, I had me worried about the whole king thing too… I tell tons of people, I'm not responsible for my chapters nor my stories, it's all the muses that I have writing these chapters. I claim no responsibility

Melissa Brandybuck: Yupyup. I'm glad to see you back! It's good to see all the names that have been following this :)

A/N2: BTW, I forgot to mention that after this story is finished, I have an idea for a story that actually happens within this one, but I can't post it until I finish this one, on account of it will have spoilers for things that won't happen until the tale end. So, just to let you know.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen: The Verdict**

Happy! I've reached onehundred reviews! Thanks so much everyone!! First time on my fanfics for that to happen :)

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Enjolras slept the better part of the next three days and for that fact, Combeferre was glad. By the end of those three days that the blond revolutionary had given to the people to make their choices, it had been just over two weeks since the barricade and the wounds that each of the young men had suffered.

Combeferre felt as if he had not slept once in those two weeks. As it was, he'd slept very little; only catching a nap here and there when he could, and always in between dealing with one patient or another. After the people had risen and they had officially taken over the government he had had more doctors that were put under his charge and he'd put them to work on various other patients and had taken the 'extra' time to devote to Enjolras and Grantaire.

The drunkard, surprisingly enough, had turned out to be a decent patient. He rested enough when he wasn't watching over the his blond idol and he took care to make sure he wasn't ripping his stitches every other day, but at least he hadn't been put up to be guillotined not once, but twice within the past two weeks. He was healing rapidly and any extra energy he had seemed to go to helping keep Enjolras under control and help him on his way to healing as best as he could.

Enjolras, on the other hand, always had been and more than likely would be until the day he died, a horrible patient. Combeferre sighed at the thought. The man never rested unless he had passed out, and even when he did that it tended to be in the worst position possible with not a friendly face in sight to help. It had not helped his condition that he'd been traipsing off after Marius less than forty-eight hours after he'd been so badly wounded. Combeferre was sure that there would be long term effects from the lack of care that the revolutionary leader had given to his badly wounded body, but that would be in times to come. Now they had to focus on merely keeping him alive and moving day by day as he had been battling a consistant fever for days now. Perhaps the sleep would help.

"Combeferre?"

The young doctor looked up to see Grantaire standing over him. "Hmm?"

"You can sleep, you know. It can't do anything but help."

Combeferre smiled. "I'm just… worried, Grantaire," he said softly. "He's been so hard on himself. I can't help but wonder…"

"We'll deal with that later. For now he's been resting well and he doesn't need to be awake for a few hours yet. It wouldn't hurt you to use those hours. He'll need both of us in the days to come."

"What's happened to you, Grantaire?" the young doctor asked with a laugh.

The drunkard grinned, dark eyes sparkling with mirth. "I found my reason for living outside of the bottle," he answered easily, turned, and returned to his place of watching over his wounded leader. His Apollo.

-----

"This is impossible," Enjolras murmured, shifting through page after page of votes that were lined with unsteady marks next to where it was clear that someone written a name in after the printing was done.

Grantaire peered over the blond's shoulder. "Nope, looks about how it happened."

Enjolras swatted at him, causing the other to laugh. He turned back to the papers with a sigh. "They don't understand the concept of voting," he grumbled. "The one elected should at least have wanted his name on the ballot."

Bouvet chuckled from his place on the opposite side of the room. "I told you that the people wouldn't stand for it," he said with a smile plastered on his face. "They wanted you and they did what they could to get you to that position."

"But I'm not at all suited for this position!" Enjolras argued.

"You were the one that said that you bowed to the people's command, that you were their servant," Bouvet reminded him. "Live by it, Enjolras. Don't make yourself a liar this early in the game or you'll be no better than those that have deprived them of justice for so long."

"But-"

"Enjolras, it is your vision," Combeferre said quietly, peering over his glasses. "No one else can see it as clearly as the one that dreams it up. Help the people."

"And if I become the next power-hungry tyrant?" Enjolras demanded.

"That is why we're here," Grantaire responded, a lazy smirk on his face. "To keep you under control. It's your job to lead the people, so lead."

"And their first and second tests of faith have come in back to back," Courfeyrac said as he entered the room, papers in hand. "Along with Les Amis, Anton D'Aubigne and several of his cronies were elected to the Counsel."

A groan seemed to wash through the room. "What's the second test?" Combeferre asked.

Courfeyrac frowned. "By verdict of the people of France, Nicolas Enjolras has been sentenced to the guillotine no later than the eve of Friday, June 21."

"That's today!" Enjolras gasped.

"They don't lose any time," Bouvet noted. "Surely there has to be time for an appeal or something. They cannot simply demand by mob rule, can they?"

"It would never pass the Counsel," Combeferre said forcibly.

"The Counsel is not yet put together in full," Enjolras answered, his voice quiet and hollow sounding. "The people's bidding is law until the government is set up firmly. Laws will have to be passed by the people about the leadership position and the counsel, delegating how much authority they – we – may have or, as Bouvet said, we are no better than those who have deprived the people of justice for so long."

"I didn't mean to let them rule like this," the national guard grunted.

"I will do my best to have the guillotine outlawed," Enjolras swore. "This will be the last."

"Then you will go through with in?" Grantaire asked.

"I have no other choice. Combeferre, I'm putting you in charge of getting the Counsel together. Go to each man and bring them together in this room by noon. We have much to discuss in very little time."

"Of course."

"Bouvet, you'll need to gather who you believe to be trustworthy of the National Guard. We'll need order this evening. I will not have a mob on our hands. Can you handle it?"

"They'll be at your command, Enjolras."

"Courfeyrac, I'll need you to alert the people that what they wish is to be done."

A grin spread across the young man's features. "I'll do my best not to rile them too much."

"Good. Grantaire, if you don't mind, I'll have you with me."

"Where to, Fearless Leader?" Grantaire asked as the others left the room.

"I have to make preparations for the execution. I… I can't ask anyone else to oversee it."

"You don't agree with it."

"No, I don't. Not the guillotine, but I have little choice in the matter. Before I go to do that, there's something else I need to do. I can't have you with me, but might I ask…"

Grantaire placed a hand on the smaller man's shoulder. "I'll be there for you when you come back out."

----------

He hadn't told Combeferre about his intentions because he knew that the doctor would have advised him strongly (forbidden) against it. The dungeons were no better off than when Les Amis had been thrown down into them less than two weeks before and Enjolras was still, though never admitted by him, very badly wounded and risking far too much by voluntarily traipsing through the jail.

Halfway down a long corridor a grey head rested against the bars, fair hands working steadily on a note that he was writing, clothes in shambles and eyes closed. Enjolras cleared his throat as he stood over him, causing his father to start and look up. "Come to say goodbye, have we?" he asked, folding the paper in his hands and stuffing it in his pocket.

"What makes you think it is goodbye?"

"I hear the murmurs even from in here, Alexis. The people wanted me dead from the day that I tried to kill you. You were their savior I was ready to have your head as my prize."

"I do not do this out of revenge, Father," Enjolras told him steadily. "I do this because it is what the people want."

"Can you not say that you want it too?"

Enjolras paused, eyes avoiding his father's. Finally he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and waved the guard away, taking a seat on the dingy floor and putting his back to the bars. "You've never give me a reason not to hate you, you realize that, don't you? I do think that the only reason that you didn't turn me out upon my birth was that you thought I might be of some use to you."

"Little good that did me."

Enjolras turned towards his father, blue eyes wary and saddened. "Tell me something, please? On the day of your death, when all else becomes meaningless nothing truly matters anymore, allow me one thing. Why did you hate me so?"

Nicolas glared at the boy for a moment, eyes boring into him and he got nothing for it. Finally he let out a frustrated sound. "You are your mother's son," he murmured softly.

"Then for the sake of her memory, please… I must know."

"You were five when your mother told me of her infidelity. I suppose you never knew until she told you. I hated you because you were not mine."

"But I look so like you," Enjolras whispered.

"You look like your mother, though she and I were of relation, albeit distant."

"So that's it? You hated me – hate me – because I am someone else's son?"

"And because you are a fool," Nicolas hissed. "You could have had it all."

"Instead I became a stepping stone like everyone else," Enjolras said as he stood. "There is the difference between you and I, Father. I care about those that you consider lesser than our _noble _blood because I understand there is no difference between them and me. Is there anything that you would have done before you die this evening? Changes to your will you've not done? I'm sure Anton is already in my place. I'll see that he gets the money that you both so love."

"Everything's been dealt with," Nicolas responded, voice suddenly very tired sounding. He pulled himself up and reached deep in his pocket. "The last bit, though, will be dealt with after my death. Take this and don't open it until my head rolls, do I have your word?" He held a small package in his hand out to his son. "My last request as the man that raised you."

Enjolras took the parcel. "My last duty, as your son."

-------------

Enjolras had pushed past Grantaire on his way to the room he had chosen for his office. He did not want to speak of the words passed between his father and himself, he did not want to dwell on it. He refused to shed tears over the man that hated him so much.

"It's almost noon," Grantaire reminded him as he disappeared into his office.

"I'll be out by then," Enjolras promised, shutting the door behind him. He turned into the room and his eyes widened as they came to rest on a figure that it took his brain a moment to process the identity of. Jean Valjean sat very easily in one of the chairs next to the desk, hands folded in his lap and eyes thoughtful. "Hello," the young leader said slowly, unsure of the nature of the visit.

"I hear that the people have called for blood," Valjean said slowly.

"I cannot go against them," Enjolras answered.

"I know. I'm not here to ask you to."

"Then, if you don't mind my asking, what _are _you here for, Monsieur?"

Valjean watched the younger man as he crossed the room, eyes never leaving him. "I'm afraid I've never really had a moment to sit down and speak with you, Monsieur Enjolras."

"Enjolras will do."

Valjean nodded. "I met you on the barricades, then again when you demanded Marius from me."

"I've been busy."

"Understandably so. As have I."

"I… never thanked you for funding the funerals," Enjolras stammered awkwardly. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure," the former convict said easily. "I was pleased when I heard that you'd meant to show your respects for those that died fighting against you. Those men that had shot and killed your friends. I even saw a tombstone for the boy that had injured you and your friend Grantaire so badly."

Enjolras' hand moved to his bandaged midsection without his meaning to, eyes still locked on Valjean.

"I came here for a purpose," the larger man said as he stood. "I came to ask you, if you are willing to tell, where you see this Republic of yours going."

"It's… It's not my Republic, Monsieur. It's the people's."

"Be that as it may, where do you see it going?"

"I… I see it going where they lead it. To peace. To prosperity. I want to do anything I can to further that. I will see it succeed. You do not need to warn me of the dangers that I face in becoming a dictator, Monsieur Valjean. I know them all to well."

Valjean smiled at this, the edges of his mouth perking ever so slightly. "It is good to here. Well then, I fear I've taken much of your valuable time as it is, Enjolras. I'll take my leave." He stopped abruptly at the door. "Oh. Yes. There was one more thing."

"That being?"

"Know that your father's blood is not to be on your hands this evening." That said, he left Enjolras alone to await the Counsel's gathering.

-----

A/N: My deepest apologies for having such a large gap in time. I really don't know why this chapter wasn't posted ages ago… I had forgotten that I'd written it, honestly. I sat myself down this evening and watched the movie Marie Antoinette. I almost felt sorry for her at times, I'm not going to lie, but at the end the fan of St. Just in me (or perhaps his ghost yelling over my shoulder) halfway wanted to see her head roll. The part of me that felt sorry for her did so because she was such a dolt, but anyway, onto my deep bows and sincere thanks for reviews!

Tsunami Wave: I'm rather partial to St Just so I don't mind Enjolras being based somewhat off of him, though I've always thought of Alexis as taking from the past mistakes of others and learning from them, but that's just me. And yes, hopefully everyone will have a good, solid feeling of loathing towards dear cousin Anton by the end of this story.

Caligirl-HPLVR: Yeah… I honestly don't know if the human body can endure quite what I put these poor characters through. If I had the brains and the money I'd go through medical school just to see what all the human body could endure so that I could put it into my writings, but we'll just say that Enjolras is awesome and pat him on the back :)

Melissa Brandybuck: Haha! I made you wonder, but no, alas, they want him dead. That seems the natural course of things, doesn't it? Man kills your king, tries to kill your savior by blaming the king's death on him… I don't know, I think he's getting out of it all rather easy…

Ponine-cosette: Thank you for the advice, and most of that is one: being such a long fic, and two: being spread out such a long period of time I forget which lines I've used. :( But still, it's good advice! Thank you.

Nicollaney: Sorry it wasn't updated any sooner… I think it's been nearly a year. :( but I haven't forgotten I promise!!

Crispy Hobit: Wow… that name frightens me a little. Just a little though. Thank you very much and I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Random Les Mis Fan: Wow… I'm sitting in shock right now at all the many, lovely compliments. Thank you very much.

Reader: I'm glad your doubts seemed to have disappeared. Hopefully I haven't disappointed you this round.

Ilaria-Uttara: That's impressive to read it all in one sitting. It's getting rather long. Thank you for the review though and I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Lily K. Black: Thank you so much! Hopefully this followed the same pattern of interestingness.

JennyplusY: History is always poked and prodded, I just did so and admitted it lol. Thank you for reading and hope it met expectations.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen: The Council and the Execution

A/N: There are several things I'd like to note before I begin. One is a flaw in the writing: I said that the day that it currently is is Friday, 21, 1832, which would be wrong by my timeline I've been keeping up with. It would be Friday, 22, 1832. Sorry 

The second is this: I've been writing on this story for an eternity. I looked back and I began it in July of 2005. So much has happened since then it amazes me and to think that I have loyal readers that are still with me. This is a moment to sit back and thank all of you. You're amazing and you are the reason that I have not ever entirely stopped on this story. Most stories that have a year pause in them are going to end up dead. I forget far too much with where I was going with it, but it's your encouragement that has kept this going. So thank you. : big cheesy grin :

--

The chimes marked noon and Enjolras released a breath he did not realize he was holding. As if on cue there were two knocks and the doors were pushed open. Combeferre entered, followed closely by several familiar faces and several unfamiliar. Though as Enjolras looked closer, he saw the more mature faces of the boys he knew growing up in his father's home.

"What is this nonsense of Nicolas Enjolras' death?" demanded a tall, handsome man that Enjolras was sure was Thomas DuMont.

"There is no nonsense about it," the blond revolutionary stated as he stood from behind the desk. His blue eyes scanned the room, making contact with each individual there. "You've been told the truth: Nicolas Enjolras murdered the king with his own hands."

"Anton was close to both your father and the king, surely he knows the truth," Lucas Chevalier growled out irritably.

"Are you calling Enjolras a liar?" Grantaire demanded.

"Perhaps," Lucas responded, eyes sparking with building anger. "Let us sit back and look at this. Your dear friend brings forth a revolution on our peaceful country-"

"Peaceful?" Marius piped in. "As you sat up in your homes with never a worry about food nor clothing! You call France a peaceful country, but only for those with the power to keep others poor and starving!"

"As I was saying, before rudely interrupted by this _student_-"

"That's enough," Enjolras interjected. "We are all council members, brought here for one reason, and that is to guide France. Have a seat, all of you, so that I may have my words. Bouvet and Courfreyac should be returning shortly, but they've already been spoken to."

Everyone moved to the overstuffed chairs that Enjolras had frowned at upon entering that room. The luxury disgusted him, but he had little time to do with it what needed to be done. When everyone had been seated, he took a look at their faces. Grantaire sat next to him, of course, and Combeferre to his other side. They were, rather on paperwork or simply in his own mind, his right and left hands: the ones that would keep him in check. Next to either of them sat Marius and an open seat left for Courfreyac, two that had fought bravely and proven to the country that they were worthy of their positions amongst the Council. Next to Marius sat another open seat left for Bouvet and Joly had seated himself on the other side of Courfreyac's open seat. Anton, Lucas, Thomas, and Isaac – those that were meant to balance the council – filled in the rest of the seats. Enjolras cleared his throat.

"Each of us has been put in the position that we are in because of the people. They chose us, and I would like to make that clear. No one here, myself included, shall ever have the capability of gaining a 'big head,' as it were, because it is each of our responsibility to keep our brothers in check. I will not allow another bloodbath to flow through France." The speech was interrupted as the door opened and Bouvet and Courfreyac silently walked in. They took their seats and Enjolras continued. "Each of us are responsible for one another and if anyone has an issue, take it to that person. I will not see any needless bickering amongst this group, is that understood?" He took a deep breath. "I'm sure each of you understands that Nico… that my father is to be guillotined today by the eve. I do not agree with this. The guillotine is an instrument that should never again be used in France, but the people have spoken and I am their servant. After the execution, the first movement I shall make, and I wish to vote on it now, is that we do away with the horrid device."

There were whispers all through the room. They glanced back and forth, each to their own familiars. Glares were shot, accusations were murmured, and Enjolras could barely stand it. He knew what was coming and he felt as if he were almost catching a glimpse of the future with the statement that followed.

"If you wish it done away with, why wait until after Nicolas' death?" It was Anton, of course. Anton would always have words to swap, a verbal knife to add to the physical wounds that were already so plentiful among the young men of Les Amis. He would be the one to watch in case of a new rebellion.

"Because the people have spoken and he has no choice," Courfreyac growled out. "Enjolras dislikes his father, it's true, but for heaven's sake, man, do you think that if he were willing to try and save – taking his place! - the boy that attempted to kill him, that he'd want to see any other man's head roll either. Use your brain."

"You call us inexperienced," Joly said quietly, adjusting his spectacles, "and say that we're only students." He paused, allowing the realization on how quickly it had spread in just a couple of hours sink into 

the four outsider's heads. "Yet you refuse to think of anything besides the power that has been put in front of you your entire lives. True, we have spent our lives in books, but we have also seen the troubles of the world. It will be the students that turn this world for the better. We are those that use their minds and hearts combined - not the wish for power – to better humanity."

"We will not survive this if we do not all learn to work with each other for the betterment of France," Marius spoke strongly as he stood. "Don't you understand the importance of it all?"

Anton sneered. "What youthful foolishness you hold," he grumbled. "But on with it."

"Wouldn't it be better, since we're all together, to go ahead and vote on Nicolas' execution?" Isaac Richards said in a quiet voice. He seemed as if he wished not to be sitting there. He had been a student, as well, in the same classes with the opinionated men of Les Amis, and had listened intently as Enjolras had used the classroom as his first platform before moving to the streets.

"All opposed to the sorry bastard dying by beheading raise your hand," Courfreyac said sarcastically.

Four hands that were expected went up and one that was not as expected joined them. All eyes turned to Combeferre. He stood, clearing his throat. "I believe, as a physician, that this form of death is cruel and unjust in a civilized society," he said with conviction. "And because of that, I cannot vote for it. It is not that I wish Nicolas Enjolras to live. He has caused more chaos and disruption in the last bit than the Reign of Terror caused, but not even a demon should be killed in such a way unless it is the only way."

"And is it?" Grantaire asked lowly. "It seems it is up to Enjolras what the choice is."

The blond shifted, looking slightly uncomfortable, rather it be from the chair he sat in or the situation he found himself in. "The people have spoken," he said at last. "We must bow to their wishes."

--

As the sun sank low in the sky the murmurs from those that had been gather since early in the afternoon filled the air. Men, woman, and children had come to see this event. Few looked disgusted, but most looked relieved. Enjolras stood with the rest of Les Amis, only slightly apart from the other four council members who had refused to come any closer. This was not the way to start out.

"You're not planning to speak, are you?" Combeferre asked, knowing the answer.

"I don't know," Enjolras answered, his voice barely audible.

The med student sighed and said no more. There was no reason to waist his breath on words that would only reach a brick wall and be lost to all understanding.

Enjolras' blue eyes were trained on a pair that looked only as if they were an older version of his own. Nicolas stood tall and proud on the scaffolding. He never lowered his head and his shoulders never slumped, but instead he stood as the tall, proud. He was a perfect statue for those that had followed him to see. His expression was unreadable and his eyes cold. A breeze picked up and tangled his greying hair just a little more. The tattered ribbon that he had somehow kept tied in his hair unknotted itself and blew into the crowd, being snatched up in an instant.

"Death to the murderer!" the people cried. "Long live the Republic!"

"The people are getting riled," Bouvet murmured to Enjolras, eyes carefully watching everything that was happening.

"Are your men in place?"

"Yes."

"Good, then that is all we can do."

Time seemed to stop as the executioner stepped to scaffolding. His black mask was pulled down around his face, eyes gleaming beneath. He glanced at his prisoner and smirked. He muttered something that sounded like "_Vive la revolution,_" under his breath and moved to the guillotine.

"The crimes charged to one Nicolas Enjolras read as…"

Les Amis stood in silence as the sentence was read and the executioner moved with aching slowness to the lever, putting one massive, gloved hand over it. Father's eyes met son's one last time before they closed forever. Blood poured down like rain and all of Paris was rocked with cries of rejoice.

If anyone were paying attention, they might have seen one blond man moving through the crowd, shadowed by a ghost like figure. Through the masses they walked, squeezing through the throngs of people and towards an escape.

_Vive la revolution,_ a voice echoed in Enjolras' head and he turned to catch the deep, dark eyes of the ghost that had been lurking in the back of his mind. _And Paris shall sleep in peace for the first time in many years. Thank you._

"Ah!"

"Enjolras!"

The spirit seemed to dissolve away as Combeferre ran straight through it, stopping only inches from his friend. He watched as Enjolras stared blankly ahead of him, and then suddenly focused. "Yes?"

"Are you going home?" Combeferre asked, as if not wanting to hold out any hope for it.

"What more is to be done today?"

The young med student watched his blond friend move away, his stride odd and ghostlike. He worried, but that was not abnormal.

--

Enjolras sat alone in his flat, holding a small package in his hands. He turned it over again and again, wanted to open it, yet wishing it would forever stay closed. His eyes closed, but quickly reopened as images of his father's head rolling entered his mind.

Long, agile fingers gently pulled at the tie that bound the package together. Their owner had not given them the command to do so, so they acted on their own. Slowly, the paper fell away, revealing a letter and many folded documents. Those uncooperative hands pulled the letter up to equally rebellious eyes. Then they began to read.

_Alexis,_

_ There are many things that I never told you in your life, and may have told you before my death. One is that you are not my true son. No, continue reading. I know that this may cause you to stop. Your mother was not always true to me, and who can blame her? In my way, I loved her, but in the end it was not enough. You are my brother's son, if you wonder why we look so alike. She found in him the love she could not find with me. _

_ I should be asking your forgiveness in my final letter to you, but my pride will never allow it. I fear it will be my undoing, but there is one last thing I can do. I have no choice but to do so: Our wealth that we possessed when you were young was not my own, but your mother's dowry. She begged me upon her deathbed to not keep it from you, not matter how distant we became. _

_ In this packet I have enclosed all documents that will entitle you to the Enjolras fortune, including my late elder brother's. He is your father, and has he has no heirs that he knew of, it was entrusted to me. Give it to your little republic, if that is your desire. Surely your mother understood you better than I._

_Be well, my son. In a way, I have always loved you._

_ Your father, _

_ Nicolas Enjolras_

Alexis Enjolras sat in awe as he undid the wrappings that clung to the documents. Everything that his father had said was there was. He shuddered for a moment, unable to comprehend. Everything seemed to swirl into one and a tear slipped down his marble cheek as he clung to the last letter his father would ever write him.

After several moments of allowing himself weakness, he stood. These documents needed to be filed and all money transferred to places in which it could help the people. He would not keep any of his mother's money. Perhaps, someday, he would find enough strength to read the letter again, or speak its words to his dearest friends, but for now he knew that it had to be filed away in a much safer place. A place that he would not see it and lose his carefully crafted mask of strength.

The letter was put away in a velvet lined box along with a few things of his mother's that he still kept. He closed it gingerly, so not to rumple the paper. As his fingers slipped from the box and the key twisted in it, he felt as if it signified something. A new start. Everything was going to be different, but if even his father could set aside his hatred for all those that he despised, then he could surely do what he set out to do. It was decided, and France would have everything she deserved.

Le Fin.

A/N: After 3 years of work, this piece is finally finished! Yay! It took me long enough. I really enjoyed this, honestly. I've put off the ending for so long, but as I was writing this chapter, I knew it would end here. Perhaps someday I'll write a second part to it…. If I can ever find the time. Oh, something really cool, my pastor used snippits of the Les Mis movie to illustrate his point today for the sermon.

Jenn Hoffman: I'm sorry it took so long to update this. Such a long time between chapters is difficult, but apparently I was able to pull it off to an extent at least.

Melissa Brandybuck: I'm glad you liked it. Enjolras was doing the best he could. Thank you so much for being such a loyal reader. : big hug :

Aurelia: Thanks so much!!

Freedom Tide: and the suspense is answered! And no, Nicolas did not get out of his head rolling. I never intended on him to. There is no way a villain like him could get away from me. : insert evil laughter : Anyway…. Hope you liked it

Pontmercy for President: Yeah, gotta love trying to read these long ones with school involved… I've done that before. Try writing them with that. That's when you get a three year long story lol. Ah well, at least it was wrapped up and not forgotten.

Feather Qwill: And there was! Thanks for reading!

Carolyn: It's been updated! Yay! Thank you much!!

Angel718: Thanks very much. Three days seems to be the magic number for people to read this story. That makes me feel really good on some level. I'm a huge Grantaire Enjolras friend paring fan. Though, my best friend and I went to go see the production in Dallas a few years ago and Grantaire was feeling up on Enjolras' leg and we got pretty giggly. Ah well, fangirls will be fangirls. Glad you like it!

Enjy-Glomper: Updated! Yay! Thank you so much!

Ignored Genius: Thanks very much!!

A/n 2: To anyone who cares, keep your eyes open in a few years because I have a couple of novels I'm working on that I hope to get published. I may put a chapter on fictionpress under the name JERussell. Maybe, someday. I don't know. I may do it tonight, so keep your eyes on it. I think I will.

Thank you for being such lovely wonderful readers! You are all amazing!! Love you much!


	20. Chapter 20

Note to my readers:

I know I'm not technically supposed to put up a note as a chapter, but I didn't know exactly how to get a hold of everyone efficiently, so here we go: I'm doing something more with "Do You Hear the People Sing?" I've created a Livejournal account in which I'll be reposting the story, along with artwork having to do with different scenes. I don't know if anyone is interested, but let me know if you are and you can email me. The email is narcolepticinsomniac61 yahoo . com I don't know, it just seemed like a good idea, so let me know if I should and if I get decent responses then I'll go ahead and put effort into it. Thanks much!

TS


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